The Center of Heaven
by bethfx
Summary: In 9:23 Dragon, Sebastian Vael, the third son of the ruling house of Starkhaven was exiled. This is the story of those left behind; of friendship and secrets, of love and terror, and the catastrophic event seven years later that would change everything. Corbinian Vael/OC, Flora Harimann, Goran Vael, Sebastian in Kirkwall, and a bunch of OCs. Follows DA canon. Reviews appreciated.
1. 9:23 Dragon

_Special thanks to fangirl42, analect, and Kurgs for being great Beta Readers. Reviews are welcome. __Updates will come every other week, hopefully quicker._  


**Part I**

_9:23 Dragon. The ruling family of Starkhaven, the Vaels, exile their youngest son, Sebastian, to Kirkwall, in order to live a chaste life in service to Andraste's Chantry._

_9:27 Dragon. A short-lived battle at the Starkhaven Circle results in the death of an innocent girl, and as a result, greater restrictions are placed on the mages and templar presence increases._

_9:29 Dragon. Sebastian Vael takes his vows to become an initiate of the Chantry, accepting a life of chastity, poverty, and contemplation._

_9:30 Dragon. The Fifth Blight erupts in the Korcari Wilds in Ferelden._

_9:31 Dragon. The Starkhaven Circle is destroyed as a group of mages flee the tower. During the chaos, the majority of the ruling family, The Vael Family, are brutally murdered by Flint Company mercenaries in the employ of Lady Johain Harimann of Kirkwall._

**9:23 Dragon, Summer**

The thing of it was, they were friends. And not just because their opulent lifestyles often found them thrown together. They had known each other since before they could form memories. Their parents' parents had known each other before their parents had formed memories. Although all were expected to be educated, thoughtful and give back to their city in some meaningful way, their current occupation was to sneak off as often as possible and indulge in spirits and vice. They had old names steeped in money and wanted for nothing.

But they were truly friends. They had grown up together, learned to walk and talk together, taken their first drinks, rode their first ponies, lifted their first swords and bows and shields together.

This was why Samantha and her brother Innley of the Mayweather's, brother and sister duo Ruxton and Flora Harimann, and cousins Corbinian and Sebastian Vael had climbed down the tresses of vines that crossed a window of one of the portrait rooms in the Fortney estate. This was why they were already half-drunk while doing so. And this was why they all laughed ridiculously when Samantha tore the skirt of her sky-blue satin gown on the fence as they climbed over. The garment likely cost the yearly wage of a farmhand, but they had no concept of wealth; just that they had a lot of it.

Stifling their laughter, they ducked in and out of the shadows as they crossed the smooth stone streets of Starkhaven's richest neighborhood. The place was known as Granite Circle, likely because of the famed path of granite that ran from the royal palace and passed dozens of noble estates to the center of the neighborhood, finally encircling a very large and elaborate round water fountain with the gentle likeness of Andraste watching over all.

Corbinian stood in the fountain, the legs of his very expensive suit rolled up to his knees, announcing to the neighborhood that he was going to be the leader of the Royal Army. He used his wineglass, which quickly emptied into the fountain, to demonstrate his sword-skills.

"Beenie couldn't hit water if he fell from a boat," Samantha announced, waving her own glass in the air.

"Hey!" Corbinian pointed a drunken finger at her. "I've never been on a boat!"

Ruxton and Flora, children of the Lord and Lady Harriman of multiple estates in the Free Marches, were laughing so hard they couldn't breathe. Flora, the eldest and wearing her traditional lavender with a flower pinned to her drooping hair, was near doubled-over. Ruxton had fallen into a fit of laughter on a nearby bench, after retying his bowtie so that it functioned as an ascot. Their brother, Brett, was rarely in their company. Already arranged to be married, he spent much of his time with the family of his betrothed. No doubt they were all still back at the Fortney Estate—back at the party the group had all just ditched—stiffly nodding to each other in affirmation of their position and wealth.

"That could be arranged," Sebastian offered with a sly smile, his long overcoat was open, his tie removed and discarded somewhere along the way, and his shirt unbuttoned halfway down.

"You hear that, Andraste?" Innley, his golden doublet stained with wine and half-unlaced, lifted his hands to the giant statue of the warrior prophetess that stood atop the fountain. "The son of the prince of Starkhaven wishes the Minanter to flood! See about that, will you?"

Sebastian Vael, the third son of the ruling family of Starkhaven, jumped onto the rim of the fountain, "Do not speak to her, foul drunkard!" he hiccupped. "I'll not have you disparage the Maker's bride!"

"Blasphemer!" Samantha laughed as she pointed at her brother. The long wisps of her deep brown hair had come loose from the elaborate hairstyle her maids had spent over two hours configuring, and now they tumbled over her shoulders.

"Yeah!" Corbinian brought his feet down into the water again and again, splashing it up. "Throw him in the royal dungeons!"

It was at that moment that Corbinian slipped and fell rear-first into the fountain and water sloshed over the sides and onto the granite pathway. The group fell into riotous laughter at that, and Ruxton dropped the wine bottle, which smashed gloriously upon the granite as well, its contents exploding outwards in a cascade of red that sprayed him, his sister, and Innley… only adding to the stains on his doublet.

"What's going on out here?" an unfamiliar voice chimed in.

The group had been so focused on their own carousing, they didn't notice the two men in suits of shiny armor that appeared from out of nowhere. The shield on their backs carried the flag of the city guard and the swords in their hands indicated that they meant business. One carried a scowl that ran deep lines between his brows.

"Worry not, my good men," still atop the fountain, Sebastian turned about and showed the official seal of the prince of Starkhaven that had been embroidered on the lapel his long coat. "Everything is under control here!"

"Your Highness," the guard said flatly. "You'd better come down from there."

"Run for it!" Corbinian called out, scrambling out of the fountain.

The others followed his lead without question, skipping into the shadows of Granite Circle. Innley pulled Flora along and Ruxton wasn't far behind as they disappeared between two estates. Samantha tripped over the hem of her ripped gown, twisting her ankle but laughing through it, and Sebastian paused to help her up, scrambling after Corbinian as they raced through the park. The guardsmen didn't give chase, even though the trail of loud laughter would have been easy to follow.

They maneuvered this way and that, around a corner and straight through another square with a statue to Corin, the Grey Warden who killed the archdemon Zazikel during the Second Blight. Samantha left her wine glass sitting upright atop his boot and the trio laughed again as they jogged out from under the lamplight.

Corbinian stumbled up against a marble column, his pants still rolled up to his knees. "Oh, I don't feel so good," he moaned. And then he vomited on the polished granite path.

Sebastian laughed at him, and dropped his glass to the granite, which exploded like cymbals crashing together. He wrapped a thick arm around Samantha's slim waist, holding her off her ankle while she threw her head back in drunken revelry. The last of her elaborate hair-twisting finally came loose and fell down her back. Sebastian looked down at her as she looked to a groaning Corbinian.

Though just fifteen, Sebastian was known for his charm with the fairer sex. Samantha had seen him sneak off from more parties than she could count, always with some girl on his arm. Local gentry, nobles' daughters, visiting heiresses… no title went unrewarded, though he could never remember any of their names. Yet he had never stared down at her like he was doing now, his hand around her waist and the intensity of his blue eyes masked in the shadow of his brow under the lamplight. He had once waved the notion away with a drunken hand, claiming she and Flora were like younger sisters but, at almost-fifteen, she was stretching her way into womanhood fast. And it wasn't going unnoticed.

"I think Beenie is going to pass out," Samantha laughed drunkenly.

"Can you walk?" he asked quietly through a smile.

She shook her head, giggling. "My ankle is killing me!"

And then he kissed her.

He was very drunk, but so was she, though later she wouldn't be able to tell if she had actually kissed him back or just let him kiss her. His mouth was warm and wet, and she imagined she tasted much like he did; there was the famous Starkhaven Fish Pie that they had eaten at the party, a chocolate mousse for dessert, and of course a rich and strong berrywine. She could smell the remnants of his cologne mixed with sweat and other spices, too. The trees and the dirt of the city park came into the mix somehow, but only just.

He kissed with passion, though he was perhaps too ardent in his affection. His shoulders rose and fell as he crushed her to his chest and she grew more uncomfortable by the second as her swelling ankle started to throb as she tried to avoid placing pressure on it. She was keenly aware of his body even in her wine-dulled state; she could feel the heat of his half-exposed chest against her breasts while his hands ran down her back and over her shoulders, across her neck and down over her chest. He squeezed and the sudden flare of pain made her cry out. She was certain she said _don't_ or something to that effect, but Sebastian kissed her harder, pulling on the front of her dress. It was then she realized that he was trying to touch her underneath her dress – right here in the streets of Granite Circle! She squirmed and made more noises, but he was strong, and her efforts to get him to stop were going ignored so she did the only thing she could. She bit him.

"Ow!" He pushed her back, bringing a hand to his bleeding lip. "You bit me!"

"What did you think you were doing?" she demanded. The seams along the sides of her dress gaped open and she had to hold up the front, lest she fall out of it.

"You are a child," he slurred drunkenly before he turned and stormed away, his jacket billowing behind him as he left her there.

She hobbled on her ankle, gripping the lamppost to keep steady. Corbinian was groaning, slumped down on the steps to an estate that belonged to someone they likely all knew. In her haze, she thought it was Lord Garrity. Samantha called to her Beenie, but he was out for the night. His lids were red, the skin around his eyes puffy, and his hair was matted with drunken sweat. She could only let out a curse under her breath.

With her dress torn and stained and her ankle turning more stiff and painful with each passing moment, she hobbled until she couldn't put any weight on it at all, falling to her knees and crawling through the streets. She was still drunk, which made the experience even more humiliating, but perhaps nothing compared to the reception from her parents as she was carried in through the front door by her house servants.

She told them it was just a bit of harmless fun, a walk through the evening streets to catch some air, she said. She slipped in her fancy shoes and the hem of her dress got caught on a fence – it was all so innocent, really. No, really! They didn't buy it, of course. The city guard had been by about ten minutes earlier, informing Lord and Lady Mayweather that their daughter and son were both observed drunken and disorderly in the town's center, debasing the most holy statue of the prophetess Andraste, an unfathomable offense in the eyes of the Maker. Innley, of course, was not home yet.

Her ankle was killing her, and when it became clear to her parents that she could not stand on it, they had servants carry her up to her chambers where her lady-in-waiting washed her up, dressed her in her nightclothes, and put her to bed.

Samantha woke the next morning to the worst headache imaginable and a modest breakfast. Her parents had even included a tonic for the headache along with instructions that she was not to leave her quarters. Not that it would have mattered; her ankle had swollen to the size of an apple and the slightest amount of pressure was so painful that she couldn't breathe.

So, Samantha was stuck in her bed all day, with her foot propped up on pillows. She hadn't heard from her brother, from Corbinian, from Flora or Ruxton, and not from Sebastian, though she fully expected to hear from him. A formal letter emblazoned with the official seal of the prince of Starkhaven would arrive at any moment, she suspected. Surely, he would remember the previous night just as she had and would be monumentally embarrassed by his impropriety. Sure, they had both been intoxicated, but that didn't excuse his absolutely ungentlemanly behavior. Ripping her dress like that… But a letter never came. Not the next day, either.

Samantha asked her lady-in-waiting about Innley, who hadn't come by her room even once, but the elven woman wouldn't look her in the eye or answer her – maybe she didn't speak the common tongue?

On the third day, she was able to move from bed to her sitting desk by the window and she stared out longingly over the gardens of her parent's estate. Why wouldn't Sebastian send an apology? Where was her brother? Why wouldn't anyone _talk _to her?

On the fourth day, she heard a rustling outside her window, and it was somewhat of a struggle to undo the latch and open it out wide, but she forgot about her pain when she saw Flora and Ruxton climbing the tresses.

"There you are!" She smiled at them both. "It's about time someone came to see me."

"Yes, well, you're under house arrest." Ruxton's head popped out from behind Flora, who appeared to be an adept climber. "A bit of espionage and some cunning and here we are!"

His smile was enigmatic, and she couldn't believe how happy she was to see them. They climbed in through the window and hugged her hello. Flora eyed her foot propped up on the chair.

"Does it hurt badly?" she asked girlishly.

"Terribly," Samantha said dramatically, and they all snickered. "How much trouble did you two get into?"

"Severe trouble," Ruxton stated solemnly.

"Indeed." Flora sighed. "My mother isn't going to buy me that white velvet dress that I wanted. I'll have to wear last year's fashions to your name day party! And Ruxton isn't allowed to ride his horse for a tenday! I don't see why they have to be so severe. It was just a bit of fun!"

Samantha rolled her eyes.

"You are the talk of the town, Sammie." Flora's eyes twinkled. "They say that Sebastian and Beenie engaged in a duel over you! What happened?"

"What? What duel?"

"Someone saw Sebastian with a cut lip and two black eyes. Beenie's eyes were black too and he was walking with a cane. I knew those boys had it for you."

That made absolutely no sense, but Samantha simply assumed the rumor mill was hard at work. She laughed. "There was no fight! Beenie passed out on the steps of… I think it was the Garrity's!" She paused for a moment. "Have you seen them?"

"No," Ruxton responded distantly, inspecting the little glass bottles of perfume that lined her vanity. "The prince of Starkhaven is said to be very upset at his son. Who knows about Beenie. His father is not even in town."

"Oh…"

"By the way…." Flora lowered her voice and eyed the door. "Why didn't you tell us about Innley?"

"That he's a daft monkey? I thought that was obvious."

"Too true." Ruxton spoke absentmindedly as he fiddled with the perfume bottles on her vanity, flinching as one spritzed his face unexpectedly.

"No, stupid!" Flora lowered her voice even more. "That he was a mage."

Samantha's smile faded away as Flora's words hung in the air, "What?"

"You two are thick as thieves! I'm so impressed that you kept that secret for so long!"

"A mage?"

"Well, he's done it, because the guard saw him last night. It's probably well known by now. I'm sure Lady Luxley is crying into her tea; she had eyes to match her daughter with him."

"Don't make her feel bad, sister." Ruxton lifted a pair of Samantha's underthings from an open drawer and then put them back stealthily. "Every family has a bad apple. Can't blame the rest of them for it."

Samantha was sure that her face was turning white. Her brother? A mage? Innley? And no one had told her? He had never told her? They said that the _gift_ of magic usually manifested itself at a very young age, sometimes as young as three but never older than eight or nine. Innley was thirteen, and he had never told a soul – not even his sister! Samantha felt too much to give a proper answer: confusion, anger, betrayal, sadness.

"Sammie?" Ruxton plopped down on the bed.

"I didn't know."

"Oh."

Flora reached for her hands. "I'm sure your father will keep him out of the Circle. I mean, you are the Mayweathers."

"Our father would send us to the Circle without hesitation!" Ruxton laughed. "Right git, that man."

Flora laughed and Samantha couldn't help but break from her introversion. He was right; his father was a right git. His mind was often elsewhere, and it was a well-known fact in Granite Circle that their mother, Lady Johain Harriman, made all the important decisions in that household. Some had even whispered that she had a mage in her employ to exact her influence over him. But these were just rumors, often spread by the jealous nobles of Starkhaven.

"But your mother—"

"Would probably be glad to have the house all to herself!" Flora finished, laughing.

Samantha smiled weakly; at least they were trying to cheer her up.

Unfortunately, their visit was cut short by her father's servants; at the sound of footsteps on the stairs, Samantha had to rush her friends back out of the window, the way they'd come. Part of her punishment for her terribly embarrassing behavior was that she wasn't allowed visits from her friends. And when they were gone,she went back to staring out at the gardens.

After a week of solitarily eating her meals and sparse visits from Flora and Ruxton through her window, Samantha was finally allowed to leave her room. There was still no word from the Vael cousins, nor about her brother. Where was Innley now? Was Corbinian alright? And where was Sebastian's apology? Knowing his father, he would have been forced to write the letter. Right?

That night at dinner, which was too quiet, Samantha sat alone along the length of a too-long table. Her parents sat on either end. Her brother's chair wasn't even drawn up to the table. The house servants lined the walls of the room, standing solemnly as always, ready to refill their glasses with wine or water and hand them clean silver should they drop their fork on the floor.

After what seemed like forever, Samantha spoke up, "Mother. Father. I would like to apologize." As if waiting for this, they both lowered their silver to the table and looked to her expectantly. She rose and clasped her hands together. "I am very sorry for my immensely poor judgment and unseemly behavior. I am the daughter of the Lord and Lady Mayweather, a name that is synonymous with good breeding, manners, and impeccable character. I have done my family a great disservice and I humbly ask for your forgiveness. If I can do anything to restore our good name, I will do it."

"A fine apology and well spoken," her mother said gently, looking to her husband with hopeful eyes.

His face hardened, and he gave her a lingering glare before finally relenting, "Alright, then."

And then they all picked up their silver and finished their meal.

After dinner, they retired to the sitting room; a high-ceilinged chamber lined with dark wooden bookcases. A thick red rug with intricate pattern of vines stretched the length of the floor. Samantha settled herself on the divan, a plush sofa made of red velvet with a dark wood. Her mother sat at her writing desk, quill in hand, with a stack of stationary in front of her. Lady Mayweather wrote a huge number of letters, responding to invitations and corresponding with nobles in Starkhaven or faraway places like Cumberland, Kirkwall, and even Orlais. Her mother loved the fashions of Orlais; of course, anyone who had any taste at all loved the fashions of Orlais.

Normally, her father would hand her a book and she was expected to read for two hours and then be able to talk about what she read with him. Tonight, as he examined the shelves, Samantha sat anxiously.

"Father," she respectfully called as he stood at the bookshelf with his reading glasses held up to his eyes. "I want to ask about Innley."

Her mother's writing ceased with a harsh scratch and she sighed, setting the paper aside and beginning anew.

"We will not speak of him," her father said dismissively as he removed a thick volume from one of the higher shelves.

"So, is it true that he is a mage," her words were met with silence. "Why was I not told?"

"You were injured and resting. We didn't think it prudent to interrupt your healing."

"But father… I would have preferred to know."

"Your preference isn't our concern," he turned a crinkled page. "Your education and position in society is."

"Whatever he did, I'm sure it was a misunderstanding!" Samantha tried to sound diplomatic.

"Whatever he did sent him to the Circle. And need I remind you of your own behavior that night? Public intoxication! Spilling wine into the fountain of Andraste! Ripping up your dress! You came home looking like a common streetwalker!"

Samantha lowered her gaze back into her lap.

"We will not speak of him," her father said again, but not as calmly as before.

"But… " _But he is family!_ She wanted to scream, instead she held it in. "Can I visit him?"

"No."

She stared at them both, "Why?"

"He is mage, darling," her mother said gently. "He's dangerous."

"He is Innley! He wouldn't harm anyone!"

"My darling Samantha, you don't understand magic. The Circle will keep him safe, not just from himself, but keep us safe from him."

"But mother—!"

"He'd been keeping it hidden from all of us!" her father lowered his reading glasses, giving her a stern look. "No doubt the influence of a demon. I've seen firsthand what magic can do, and he needs to be locked up. All mages do."

"But not Innley—!"

"_Enough_," her father's voice bounced off the walls of the room.

There was no arguing with him, and Samantha's face twisted in the sadness of losing her baby brother. She wasn't alive back when Adain escaped the Starkhaven Circle. Her father had been a young boy then. He had recounted the story of Adain of Starkhaven, a powerful mage that had escaped from the Circle in the winter of 8:76 Blessed, just fortyseven years ago and the coldest winter that the Free Marches had seen in decades. The story was that Adain broke out of the Circle during a blizzard, killing more than a dozen templars and mages alike as he fled into the white night. And those deaths were bloody. Storytellers loved to elaborate on how Adain made anyone who got in his way suffer needlessly. He had been almost inhuman, they said, and the streets had run red with blood and the sky darkened for weeks after his passing, as if he was issuing a threat with the elements of nature themselves. Some said he had even crafted the blizzard that suffocated the city.

They say the templars chased after him, but that's often disputed in retellings. When the spring thawed the lands, the templars mounted the hunt in earnest using his phylactery to track him into the Vimmark Mountains. But out of more than two-dozen Templars hat left that spring, only two returned by the end of summer and they declared the hunt over. Adain had prepared for them, and resorted to blood magic – the most foul of all magic – and the two templars that returned were never the same. They babbled of demons and horrors unimaginable until one of them took the other's life before his ending own on winter's night some ten years later. They wouldn't hear another breath about Adain until rumors of his passing reached Starkhaven sometime in the early Dragon Age. Even then, the stories about his memoirs hinted at research, offspring, and brutal killings…

The people of Starkhaven didn't like to talk about Adain much; it didn't do to dwell on nightmares, after all. The Chantry's liked to speak of him often as he was their token reminder for why the Templars and the Circle were necessary and her father agreed with them. His views on mages and magic had been fundamentally shaped by this event.

There was nothing left to say in Innley's defense, so she sat silently, her hands together in her lap and her spine straight and proper, just like a lady. She blinked back her tears and tried very hard to hold it together to the sounds of her mother's quill scratching across paper, thin pages crinkling as her father turned them, the crackling fireplace, and the candles that silently cast all their shadows across the room.

With her lips quivering, she finally asked her mother, "Have any letters come for me?"

"No, darling," the quill worked busily against the parchment. _Scratch scratch scratch_. "Were you expecting any?"

"Yes, perhaps," she swallowed hard. "From Sebastian Vael? Or his cousin Corbinian?"

"No. " S_cratch scratch scratch._

"I wouldn't expect we will hear from Sebastian," her father said solemnly. "He has been sent to the Chantry in Kirkwall."

Samantha's mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. "Wh-what?"

"He was a disgrace to the royal name," her father handed her a book, it thumped heavily into her lap. "Hopefully, the Chantry can teach him a thing or two about being a man."

"He's gone?" her eyes widened, still disbelieving. "Sebastian Vael is gone?"

"Don't sound so surprised, darling," her mother always spoke so warmly, which belied all the coldness of her words. "The way he acted, the influence he had upon you and the Harimann's children…"

She couldn't really hear her mother ramble on and on about the Vael family and how ashamed they all were of their outcast son: drinking and whoring and lying… and his filthy mouth! If only her parents knew about her! If only they knew about them all.

"What about Corbinian?"

"Who knows," her father groaned. "His father is out of town, but I am sure a similar fate awaits."

Her heart sank deep into her chest, hollowing her out with the uncomfortable explosion of fear that flittered out through her limbs. How could this have happened? First Sebastian and then Corbinian? Her lids suddenly felt heavy, like she might faint. She gripped something that felt hard and worn like leather. Yes, of course, the book. The book was still in her hands and she carefully turned it over._ The Sermons of Divine Renata I._ Inwardly, she lamented how boring this read was going to be, prompting another fit of silent despair to crawl up into her throat.

They had all been sent away. Corbinian. Sebastian. Innley. Exiled from their own families.

It would be a year before she would see or hear from any of them again.


	2. 9:24 Dragon, Summer

****_Thanks to analect, fangirl42, and kurgs - without you guys, this story would not be what I want it to be.  
_

**9:24 Dragon, Summer**

She had plenty of time to think about it, and she came to the conclusion that she should have been smarter. To think that she was somehow immune to the way things were simply because of her name or the name of those in her company.

The name Mayweather was well respected in Starkhaven… or it had been. Many looked down upon her now, and it took a year of curtsying and apologizing and praying in the Chantry before the nobles of Granite Circle stopped whispering behind her back, spreading rumors about her wild night of debauchery with Sebastian and Corbinian. To hear them tell it, she had danced in the Fountain of Andraste stark naked! Her mother managed to spin the tales around to a night of harmless fun mired by the effects of youth and alcohol. Samantha was simply an innocent girl who was clearly enamored with royalty – wild and entitled as those boys are.

In truth, the Vael family had always taken their occupation quite seriously. Samantha's mother might have been content to preside over elaborate competitions and pageants like some royal families in the Free Marches, but the Prince of Starkhaven had taken a far more active role in governing, forming a strong partnership with the Grand Cleric and the Chantry – especially after that whole business with Adain.

For some reason, Samantha always thought that if she were with the Vaels, she would be immune to trouble. They _were_ royalty. It seemed absurd that they would be made a spectacle; even more ridiculous that they should have been sent away. The very idea of it was foreign. Sebastian was the third son, and it was assumed that he would lead the archery regiments. He was an archer of considerable skill; he could hit the eye-slit of a helmet from the tops of the ramparts of the royal palace of Starkhaven, and that was saying something. One night, he had bragged that his grandfather was going to gift him a longbow that had been in the family for generations. _As soon as I get good enough_, he had said. Ruxton had made terrible fun of him for finally taking something seriously, but Sebastian ignored him. Or maybe he just didn't see that he was being mocked. It was hard to tell. When Sebastian got his eyes on something, it was hard to get him to look away.

His cousin Corbinian would, of course, lead the Royal Army. Corbinian was quite skilled with the sword. Samantha smiled every time she remembered watching him train in the courtyard with his other cousins and brother. Sometimes Ruxton would join in but, truthfully, the Harimanns' son just wanted to lounge and be merry and read books. He said as much on a regular basis. But aside from the straining and the sweating, he turned into a plank of wood around the girls who would watch. Much too shy, Ruxton had so little experience with the opposite sex, many considered him a prude.

Despite the suddenness of their leaving, the pair was never far from her thoughts. When Flora and Ruxton came to visit, they were always talking about Sebastian and Corbinian, but there was never a word of where they were, what they were doing or if they ever visited Starkhaven. She had casually asked her mother about it only to receive vagaries and hearsay.

This is why it was a great surprise to the entirety of Granite Circle for Corbinian to simply reappear just over a year later.

He arrived with the entire royal family to Chantry service at midsummer. There was no welcome-back, no announcement, no letters. Just re-emergence and Samantha had a hard time removing her eyes from him. If she had ever suspected that she felt nothing for him at any point in her life, simply _seeing_ him was enough to correct her and when she caught him smirking at her from across the pews it was all she could not to squeal like a little girl.

Grand Cleric Francesca was giving a sermon on the dangers of magic, likely because of the rumors surrounding the Mayweather family's misfortune, or so everyone called it. It was still the talk of Granite Circle, and Samantha was rather annoyed that her father seemed to hope the rest of the neighborhood could erase Innley from their minds as simply as he did.

She began stoically, her voice bouncing from the high ceiling to the stained-glass windows. "A mage who does not receive the teachings of the Circle and who does not have the words of Andraste in her heart is an apostate, and a danger to us all. Without the guidance of the holy Chantry, a mage may foolishly dabble in the darker arts—blood magic, or demon summoning, thus becoming maleficarum. We all remember what happened with Adain."

Corbinian lifted his finger to his brow then, pretending to scratch, but he shot Samantha another look and she could feel her chest heaving. It was everything she could do to remain still, her hands in her lap.

"And a mage's mind will ever be a doorway to spirits of the Fade; without proper instruction, this doorway remains open and unsecured. If a demon should come through this doorway and possess a mage, an abomination is created. Abominations know only madness. They cannot be reasoned with and will slaughter man, woman and child without thought. Whole cities have fallen to these creatures. Thousands have died at their hands. The Chantry and her templars have a duty to ensure that this does not happen."

He mouthed something to her and she squinted at him, trying to convey that she didn't catch it, and so with a cursory glance to his mother who was seated beside him, he then pointed to his own chest and mouthed it again: _What color?_

She could feel her cheeks growing hot, and she narrowed her eyes at him – what a scoundrel!

"If I knew a better way to deal with magic, I would seize upon it immediately. But we cannot let the mages guard themselves. We only need to look at the Tevinter Imperium and their lack of restraint. Without Chantry oversight the magisters abuse their power. Those without magic are trampled underfoot and forced to serve."

Corbinian looked back to her again and winked. Samantha shot him a fierce look; he was being so naughty! And in church! If only she could feel offended, but truthfully, every muscle in her face wanted to smile. Her father frowned at her briefly and she refocused on the Grand Cleric.

"Imagine your children growing up in such a world. If a mage asked it of you, you would have to give him your daughter, not knowing what his plans for her might be. You could not resist him, and neither could she. Without our templars and without the Circle, the common man would have no defense against magic. Many understand that we do what we do for their own good. Now, let us pray together."

The congregation stood up, and Samantha looked over to Corbinian amongst the safety of the standing crowd. He was watching her steadily, with a curious little smile playing on his lips, before he closed those Vael-family blue eyes, turned his head, and began to pray.

After the prayers and the singing and the moment of silence for the fallen faithful all over the Free Marches, the high nobility of Starkhaven were released and it was during this time that Samantha was always allowed to socialize with her friends. She didn't wait for her father or mother to give her permission; she shot through the aisles. Corbinian was hugging Flora and Ruxton and several others who had run to welcome him back, but when he saw Samantha heading over, he left them and came to meet her halfway. His smile positively killed her.

He took her hands; his were warm and rough, and Samantha wondered just what he had done in the last year to make them that way, but when he spoke, she forgot about them, "Well, hello there."

She curtsied. "You look well."

"I've had some time to recover, yes. And I've been ordered to apologize for my truly atrocious behavior on that night, though it was amusing to you, I am sure. My apology to Lord Garrity was perhaps the most eloquent letter I've ever written, if I do say so myself."

"Well done, messere," she said, smiling sweetly as her parents were watching.

"I heard you injured your ankle," he spoke mischievously and never looked away. "Admittedly, I have little memory of it."

"It's fine," she liked that he remembered. "All healed. I'll be able to dance like a harlot at my name day party."

"Excellent." He held out his arm for her to take. "Do wear those lace underthings you keep hidden in your vanity. I promised the Kendalls a good show."

"I'll consider it. But only because Lord Kendall is such a romantic."

Corbinian stifled a laugh, mostly because Lord Kendall was ninety years old and was always yelling _what_ to the young people with an earhorn in his ear.

The sunshine greeted them as they began their stroll about town. It was something that the nobles of Starkhaven had been doing for centuries. After service, they would all take a nice leisurely walk through town and greet each other politely before taking brunch. Samantha had loved these walks with Corbinian on one arm and Sebastian on the other, but that was all going to change now. It would be just Corbinian today, now and forever more.

"So when are we going to visit Innley?" He led her out of the chantry, and it was like the year that passed had been erased. Like no time had passed at all.

"They won't let me."

"Of course. But you know that I can."

Of course he could, and likely would. She squinted at him in the late morning sun; its warm light danced on the top of his auburn hair that all the Vaels had, and she searched her mind for a memory where there was ever a Vael more beautiful. She couldn't find one. "Where have you been?"

"Oh, here and there." He winked, which was slightly infuriating.

"Beenie!"

He chuckled. "Nevarra City."

"Whatever for?"

"My mother's sister's family live there."

Samantha raised an eyebrow. "How tenuous."

"Well, she's my mother's last surviving family. And her family is more… strict. I was given an education of sorts."

"Oh?" she asked playfully. "Did they cure you?"

"Let's just say that I understand what I did. And I know why I was sent away. And also why I was allowed to return." He glanced at her. "Sebastian wasn't as fortunate."

"I heard about that." She looked down the granite path. "Did you see him before he left?"

"Briefly. He's in Kirkwall now. I received a letter from him a few months ago."

That stung, too; apparently he could write to Corbinian, but couldn't craft a letter to her? One of his oldest friends? And after what had happened? Somehow that was more insulting than what he had done to her.

"Said Kirkwall was a different town. Simpler. And he hoped his stay there would be short. But his parents aren't like mine, and I don't think he gets it."

"What? That his parents gave him away? That he's stuck there, likely forever? To live a pious and chaste life in service to the Maker?"

"Yes, yes, and yes. I think you just about covered it." Corbinian placed his hand over hers as she sighed. "I think they were planning it for a while. Probably had the arrangement all set up weeks before."

"But how could they just… get rid of him like that?" Samantha protested, her mind filling with thoughts of Innley.

"Well, he is a rather wild boy."

She snickered. "Right. A lone wolf, crazed in a sea of sheep!"

"I assume you mean we are the sheep?" He scratched his chin. "I always figured myself for a fox. Something small and fluffy and sly—" She elbowed him then, smiling, but he just shook his head. "For some reason, the people of this town think that he and I got into a duel." They paused at the fountain of Andraste and he looked down at her. "Over you."

"Is that what they say?" she teased. She had heard this rumor quite often over the last year.

He leaned down to murmur in her ear, the whole town watching. "Probably more like whispers. Under handkerchiefs and soft lighting."

"Do be careful, Beenie," she muttered, as his breath tickled her neck. "You will give me the vapors!"

"An impossibility," he announced, pulling away. "I know how Lord Kendall holds your heart."

She laughed loudly then and all the nobles paused to watch the two teenagers at the fountain of Andraste where, a year ago, they had defiled it with their wretched vice and sin.

"He had a nasty cut on his lip." Corbinian stared into her with his impossibly blue eyes.

"Maybe he fell." She offered up her own amber eyes in response.

"On his lip?" he smirked. "An impressive maneuver, to be sure. I'll be sure to get him to teach me when I visit."

She just shrugged with a sly little smile.

"Coy little minx." He laughed. "You realize that I do remember some things…"

"Oh? And what do you remember?"

"I'm serious, Sammie."

"You're never serious, Beenie. And I'm fine! I mean, look at me!"

"I've _been_ looking at you." He smiled again, and the whiteness of his teeth contrasted with the brown of his skin and she decided then and there under the Maker's sun that he was definitely more beautiful than Sebastian. He was staring at her in a very personal way in front of a crowd of nobles who had gathered and were pretending not to be eavesdropping. When he noticed them all as well, he lifted his arm to her again as they continue to walk.

"Your name day party is coming up," he said casually. "You're going to save me a dance?"

"Maybe after Lord Kendall."

"Ah, so you are starting with the most attractive man and working your way down? A wise course."

"A name day tradition in my family."

"Yes, I remember your mother dancing with Lord Robaire last year."

She laughed again; Lord Robaire was heir to the Fortney estate, the richest in Starkhaven behind Vael's, but she was laughing because Lord Robaire was about eight years old.

When they reached the gates of her estate he turned to her and offered a deep bow. She curtsied in return and held out her hand regally and Corbinian chuckled when presented with it but lifted his fingers into her palm, leaning down to kiss the back. It had been so long since he had done that, it felt at once familiar and new. His hand were bigger than hers and the side of his fingers were more rough than she remembered, yet the way he kissed her hand was entirely different than all those other times. It was intimate, as if he was kissing more than her hand.

When he stood back up, he released her hand and took a step closer, his voice quiet, "If I weren't a newly reformed gentleman, I would kiss you somewhere else." He slipped his hands lightly into his pockets.

"Is that so?" With her hands clasped behind her back she looked up at him innocently, but it was all a great big lie. "On this most holy day? Right after church service?"

"With the Maker's name on my lips."

"I never pegged you for a romantic."

"I apprenticed with Lord Kendall."

She tried to hide her smile. "Where would you kiss me?"

"I would kiss you on your neck right behind your ear." He spoke so promptly, without thinking about it, like he had it planned, and as his eyes burned into her, lighting a trail of flame from that place on her neck down to her navel, Corbinian lifted his right hand from his pocket. "Then I would place this hand on your back, right where your shoulder meets your spine, and slide upwards, until I had your hair in my hands."

He had never spoken to her this way before and her body reacted with verve, lighting up with waves of sensation and she could imagine a thousand things that he could do to her in that moment that she would allow. But only him.

He kept his focus on her and she didn't blink when he asked, "What would you do then?"

She wanted him to keep going, but she couldn't say that, not with this many people on the streets, so instead she gave him a sly smile, "I'd… probably slap you."

"As long as you don't bite me." He smirked before he turned lazily, strolling down the street to the palace, the heat carried away on the breeze.


	3. 9:24 Dragon, Late Summer

**9:24 Dragon, Late Summer**

_Mistress Samantha,_

_I hope my letter finds you in the throes of celebration on the occasion of your sixteenth name day. It is with considerable regret that I am missing out on the festivities, as I recall discussing all of the wonderful things that we planned to do on this day and the day after and the day after… These are memories I hold close to my heart and it is my wish on your special day that you are afforded the opportunity to do all those things we talked about and more. I am sure my cousin will see that you are appropriately celebrated and entertained._

_I apologize for not writing to you sooner, but I felt an apology in writing was rather gauche. Yet I have no other avenue so I must use this crude method, and hope that the feeling behind the words is enough._

_I am truly sorry for my behavior on the night before I left. It a shameful thing to ignore the wishes and desires of a girl when she has given herself over to the passions of a man. It was wrong to hold you in my arms and act out of selfishness. I hope you find it in your heart to forgive me someday, and I would very much like to continue our friendship; though, if Corbinian has anything to do with it, I'll likely call you cousin, soon._

_I was distressed to hear about Innley. I'll light a candle for him during service._

_Yours in spirit,_

_Sebastian Vael_

"Oh dear." Flora sighed deeply as she read it again. "He always could pen a beautiful letter."

Samantha tossed a grin over her shoulder while she messed with her hair. She had been trying to tie a ribbon into her long brain for the past ten minutes, but couldn't get the knot quite right, and was rather regretting having sent her maid away, some little elf girl who was all thumbs. Finally, Flora got tired of watching her and set Sebastian's letter aside.

"Here, let me do it." Her fingers deftly maneuvered the ribbon in and around her braid until it was woven perfectly.

Inspecting it in the mirror, Samantha was in awe. "How did you do that?"

Flora wiggled her fingers. "Sebastian isn't the only one with nimble fingers."

"What does that mean?"

Flora leaned down to her shoulder, staring at Samantha's reflection in the mirror. "Every girl has her secrets. Now, tell me about Corbinian. What's this—" She ran back to Samantha's bed and picked up the letter, reciting: "_Though, if Corbinian has anything to do with it, I'll likely call you cousin, soon._"

Samantha giggled. "Oh, that?"

"Andraste's holy word! Tell me!"

Samantha turned around in her chair, a maniacal grin on her face. "I think Beenie has designs on me."

"Yeah, and?"

"What do you mean _yeah, and?_ He told me he wants to kiss me." She wiggled in her chair, fiddling with her braid.

"And…?"

"Right here." Samantha winked, pointing to the spot behind her ear.

Flora lifted an eyebrow. "He said that?"

"And then he told me where he wanted to touch me while kissing me…" She let her voice trail away, her eyes going wide before she whirled around in her chair again, redirecting her focus to her reflection.

Flora just gaped, "He did _not_."

"Did too."

"Oh, he's so bad!"

Samantha was fairly certain that Corbinian was making fun of her. He'd intimated that he knew Sebastian had kissed her and how she had bitten him, and perhaps he was even teasing her because of the hell she had been through with the nobles of Granite Circle over the past year. Maybe he would lord it over her in some horrible boy way and she would have to do unspeakable things to keep the secret – never mind that the thought of those things made her feel delightful.

_Those wicked Vaels. Especially Beenie._

"Bad he may be, but I have just as much dirt on him." Samantha brushed a light brown powder across her eyelids and blinked a few times.

"Oh you deserve each other, playing these games," Flora huffed, hopping off the bed. "I'll see you tonight."

"Don't forget—!"

"I won't!" Flora called back from down the hallway.

Samantha turned back to her mirror. She really looked grown up, so much so that she surprised herself. It was customary in Starkhaven to wear white when attending a noble's daughter's sixteenth name day celebration, and Samantha had ordered her dress two months ago from Orlais. It wasn't silk, it was all lace, delicately hand stitched and beaded from the hem up, letting her collarbone show. She decorated her neck with a silver necklace, her profile in ivory plated on a rose stone resting just above her breast. It was fashionable trend amongst the daughters of Starkhaven.

She primped herself for a few moments longer, setting a white rose in her hair before—satisfied at last—she left the chamber, and met her mother in the corridor. Lady Mayweather was positively glowing, and Samantha was forced to suffer through her sickening smile, along with the hugs, and the preening and praising and so many _you're all grown up now_s that she thought she would die of boredom. But then her mother presented with her a tiara to place on her head like she was a princess, which Samantha thought was quite tacky. When her mother wasn't looking she quickly stashed it into a large plant with great big green leaves. Samantha moved off to descend the staircase, pausing halfway down as the party-goers turned to gaze up at her. They looked at her with admiration and jealousy and bitterness... and then boredom, as the novelty of her arrival gave way to their eagerness to down spirits and food.

The elaborate nature of these parties were more for her parents than for her, and so Samantha did what she could– she drank so much wine and ate so many oysters that it was equally likely she would vomit or laugh giddily throughout the night; either might have struck her at any point. Thankfully for her sake–and that of the rest of the party she composed herself long enough to make her customary bow, and smile and thank everyone for coming, before the band started to play loudly and the drunken revelers began to dance the night away. Jackets were left on chairs and shawls were thrown across tables as the heat of the evening rose with the dancing, and she did her share.

"Did you bring it?" Samantha met Flora on the terrace.

"Yes, yes," she answered tiredly, handing her friend a small vial with maybe a thimbleful of thick blue liquid, swirling with a magical shimmer. Samantha's eyes widened.

"I can't believe you got it."

"Well, you only turn sixteen once!" Flora lifted another vial from a hidden breast pocket and winked.

"Are you sure this is safe?" Samantha peered into the tiny vial, mesmerized by the metallic swirling.

Flora looked into her vial as well. "The alchemist says it's not nearly as potent as the stuff the Templar's drink. Just a little kick."

With a cursory glance to her parents, Samantha popped the cork, and she and Flora emptied the contents into their mouths. The liquid fizzled, coating their tongues with a distinctly bitter taste, but it wasn't hard to find a passing servant with a tray of wine and they both laughed ridiculously as Samantha tossed a glass back without a lady's pause.

Flora laughed, covering her mouth with her hand. "Slow down, will you? Your parents are watching!"

"Oh, the Maker can have them," Samantha held her glass to the servant who silently accepted it and handed her another. "I doubt they'll even notice. My mother is nearly weeping, she's so smashed."

"No wonder your father hasn't left her side." Flora eyed them from across the room. "She doesn't drink much, does she?"

Lady Mayweather was swaying from side to side and her lids were blinking almost independently of one another.

"Only on rare occasions," Samantha scanned the terrace. "Have you seen Beenie?"

"He's over there." Flora pointed to a darkened corner of the garden next to a row of high hedges. The boys at these parties usually gathered together and roughhoused while the girls sat around and giggled. She gave a sigh. "Sebastian would be over there right now if he hadn't been sent away."

"You should have visited him," Samantha said for the fortieth time.

"I know," she whined.

Flora's family visited Kirkwall about three or four times a year as they had a second estate there. But, during her spring trip, she had at first waited for Sebastian to visit and, when he had not, she never worked up the nerve to visit him at the Chantry. She never saw him at service, and later suspected that he never knew she was in town.

Samantha had a passing thought of Sebastian, sitting in his brother's robes, perhaps sulking, refusing to come out and never knowing an old friend was so near. Perhaps he never thought of Flora at all. Perhaps he didn't even know of her affection. Perhaps he did and was denying himself the torture of seeing her since he had been forced into chastity. Perhaps he was drunk and climbing out of a window somewhere. The thought made her smile.

"Maker, why did he have to be sent away?" Flora finished off her glass and scanned for a passing tray.

"Just write to him already." Samantha waved to someone who'd waved at her – she couldn't tell who they were or even if she knew them.

"I'll try and not to be so transparent when I do," Flora brushed her hair back, clearly trying to forget about Sebastian. "Who are we dancing with now?"

"Whoever asks!"

It would have been rude not to dance with her party guests, but the one that had curiously not asked her to dance was Corbinian. She saw him look over at her pointedly as if the boys around him had been speaking of her, and he looked away.

"What a tease," Flora sneered. "You want my advice, Sammie? Ignore him. Make him think you're completely uninterested and show interest in everyone else."

"A jackal's game." Samantha finished her glass of wine. The tiny vial's contents were making her feel fantastic. "They should be fighting over us, Flora. Not the other way around!"

"If you say so." She sighed, clearly thinking of Sebastian, who was an altogether different animal. Who knew what that boy wanted?

"Here he comes. Good luck." Flora giggled while she walked away and Samantha looked across the room.

It seemed Corbinian's inhibitions had taken the path of his jacket, which was thrown casually across the banister. He strode through the room like it was his own and these were all his guests. The moment he took her hand into his was marvelous thanks to the tiny vial that Flora had obtained. She felt a strange of surge of energy, like she could do anything with his hands on her, but instead of flying to the Maker's kingdom, he led her out onto the stone slabs of the patio. Many had gathered here, swaying together with their bodies close as if they were alone. He hadn't even asked her to dance, the brute, though when he stepped nearer she no longer cared. In the later summer, Starkhaven baked like a holiday ham, and while the evening breeze was cool, Corbinian was warmer than a roasting pit.

"Finally made time for the honoree, have you?" she teased, and she could feel the ribbon in her braid loosening from the heat.

"I figured I owed you that much." He was a little breathless, having spent most of the night drinking and running around outside – such a boy.

"Your dancing is atrocious."

"You should see Goran."

He looked over her shoulder and she turned to the sight of Goran Vael, Corbinian's younger brother, fumbling artlessly around the dance floor with Flora, who gave her a pleading look. Samantha turned her face into Corbinian's shoulder, trying to hide her desire to laugh very loudly. She could feel his stomach muscles contracting in and out against her as he laughed too.

"I see your point." She sneaked a look over her shoulder again. "Who invited that poor sod?"

"Oh, we're related, haven't you heard?"

"I wouldn't admit to that too loudly, Beenie. You might get kicked out just so he'll have to leave with you."

"Well if I get kicked out, I'm taking my gift with me."

"Too late!" She shook his shoulders a little, as much as she could anyway, he was immovable wrapped around her. "I've already seen it. Great big box. White paper. Gold ribbon."

"A lady's riding saddle," he announced with boredom. "My mother picked it out. I'm sure you'll adore it if you ever decide to take up riding horses."

"How dare you come to my party without a gift," she said, feigning offense.

He gave her a funny look, a pause, a consideration, and then he said, "It's hot up here." He moved his hands from her waist, taking her fingers in his again as he guided her through the other dancers, all intimately staring into each other's eyes like it was their party or something.

He led her from the floor, walking down a series of stone steps, past the string quartet that kept everyone in each other's arms, and into the gardens. She hopped a bit to remove her shoes: even low heels don't walk on grass very well.

"Where are we going?" She laughed, but she wasn't protesting that they were leaving the party.

"I'm leading us to our doom." Corbinian turned around, walking backwards, the starlight catching a small golden chain around his neck that was no longer hidden under his unbuttoned collar.

"Of that, I have no doubt." Samantha dropped her shoes, forgetting them immediately because Corbinian smiled at her again – that damnable smile that squinted his eyes and drew lines around his mouth and she decided that wherever _her doom_ was, it was likely a lovely place.

Eventually they stopped and she looked behind her to see the tiny twinkling lights of her party, still raging well into the night. The quiet struck her immediately, because the party had been so loud and the shift left her feeling a little awkward.

"They say the Maker can see you better out from under the light." Corbinian dropped her hand, lifting his face to the stars.

"You wish an audience with the Maker?"

"They say he is always in audience. Even now." He lost his footing a little, likely lightheaded from his wine and looking up.

Samantha looked up too, but Corbinian caught her before she fell over. The wine had gone straight to her head and the vial had brought her body to life, and she truly loved this feeling. Their everyday lives were lived with restraint; mustn't smile too big, laugh too loud, ask too many questions or talk too much and definitely no cracking jokes or poking fun. Impropriety was defined in many different ways, and in their caste it seemed like everything that was any fun at all would fall under its banner.

"Watch those ankles." He smiled down at her again and she thought she might say something she didn't mean to between the wine and the vial.

His eyes were still so blue even under the star's dim light, most especially when he brushed her hair away from her face. It sort of tickled, but not in a way that would prompt her to laugh. Maybe it was that simple gesture, or the way he joked about her biting him, or any other time where he had winked or smirked or had given the impression that everything in the world only existed to entertain him. In any case, the tiny vial had infused her limbs with playful energy, and she was determined to catch him in his tricks.

"I'm onto you," she poked a finger into his shirt. "I know what you're doing."

"I doubt that," he mused, setting her back on her feet so she wouldn't fall over.

"You're trying to seduce me." She wasn't so much drunk as the vial had shed her of her inhibition.

"Succeeding is more like it."

"You take me away from my own party," she tapped his chest with her finger. "After barely dancing with me and I'm supposed to swoon?"

"Swooning is optional, actually."

"You never wrote to me while you were away."

"I wasn't allowed sharp objects inside the house."

"You didn't eat with me this evening, either. I had to eat with Gwendolyn Tyler," she waved her hand in the direction of the party. "Or rather, I ate while she watched."

"Truly, she is a gorgeous young skeleton," he chuckled at Samantha's condition.

"More your type."

"Yes, but mostly because she spreads her legs for all the neighbors."

She couldn't help the loud laugh that escaped her and for a moment she forgot that they were alone, because she slapped a hand to her mouth as if it were too loud in the quiet of the garden. He chuckled too, but his eyes seemed to get caught, overly preoccupied with the spot where her necklace sat on her collarbone; a lot was left bare and he seemed sort of pensive before he moved his eyes back to hers.

"So, I've made a decision." He was so mischievous.

"How very grown up of you."

"I've decided that I'm going to kiss you tonight."

She couldn't help laughing again, "On my neck?"

"No," and that half-grin returned. "Right on your lips. If you'll let me."

"And why should I?" she tilted her chin up defiantly, as if to tease him with something he wanted to see if he would take it.

He looked down at her mouth, "Because it's the natural way of things, Sammie. First the lips, then the neck."

"Clearly, I need to bone up on the rules."

"I'll educate you," he smiled, and she opened her mouth to respond but found nothing coming out, for the tiny vial was encouraging her to accept his offer. "But I'm not going to right now," he slipped his hands into his pockets.

She stood flat on her feet, the hem of dress settled into the cool grass which was turning warm like everything else, "You're so considerate, Beenie."

"I just want you to open your gift first."

"Your mother will be so proud of you."

"Not that one," he lifted a hand from his pocket – always his damnable pockets – and in his palm sat a small box.

Samantha raised a brow, "Spending all your allowance in one shot again?"

"Something like that."

But she made no move to take it and he just stood there, holding it out in his open palm. His eyes were fixed on her, and more and more often she felt completely naked with her clothes on.

"Go on, then."

Gifts were almost always opened the day after, never in front of the gift giver unless it was a special gift, a gift with meaning and purpose. Little velvet boxes that emerged from dashing young nephews of the prince of Starkhaven definitely fell into this category. Suddenly nervous, wondering what he was doing and if he even knew, she opened her mouth to speak but he cut her off by simply taking a step towards her.

"Before you say something cute," he spoke quietly. "Just open it."

She lifted her palm to meet the box, and with its passing, his hand retreated back to his pocket. The box was warm. Warmth transferred from his body to the box and now to hers. To Samantha, it was quite the erotic thought, and she wondered about its path from place to place to end up in her hand. She was thankful for the wine and the little vial's liquid courage as she let her eyes drop down and, making sure her expression was nonchalant, she casually opened it up.

In the moments that followed, she was grateful that she was standing flatfooted in a garden with the soft grass, because for an instant she thought she might faint.

It was a golden locket. The design on the top was the Vael family crest. The hook for the chain was empty, because there was no chain. This locket was a family heirloom and for some reason, Corbinian had just given it to her. Such things were rarely given to anyone of only passing importance. No, things of this nature were given as promises and she could feel her heart thumping so loudly that she thought maybe he could hear it, too. The muscles in her body wouldn't respond to the normal commands; the best she could do was to move her eyes and when they reached his, he smiled at her – that Vael smile.

They had been playing games all their lives, from the moment they met and he stole her painting oils and dumped them over her head, and she had cried and cried and then later when his mother marched him over to her, his chin tucked firmly against his chest, and made him apologize. And he had, but he'd lifted his head and stuck his tongue out to suggest he wasn't sorry at all. He had that same sort of look now, the one that implied how very not sorry he was.

It was at this moment that she considered he wasn't playing games.

He tilted his head, "You look confused."

"This is your grandmother's locket," she said almost dumbly.

"You remembered."

"Does your mother know you're gifting it to me?"

"Yes. Woah—" Corbinian caught her, his hands firmly on her arms, because that answer caused her to wobble, suddenly very lightheaded. "If I had known it would provoke such a reaction I would have given this to you in front of your parents."

"That would be just like you…" she said weakly.

She had wobbled up against his chest, bringing a hand up to keep steady, and the box was still open, the golden locket shining bright like its own star and that's when she caught his chain again. Just a simple golden chain, but it looked like it could partner with this locket and for a moment she had insane thoughts. Truly. And in the silence of the next moment, with her hands on his warm chest through his half-unbuttoned shirt, she could feel a thumping of his own, strong and steady, predictable even as he was not.

"Why are you giving this to me?"

He smirked, bringing his hand to her chin. "I think now I'll kiss you."

She made some small noise, she was sure of it, because his lips were against hers a moment later, soft and warm with wind and crickets and the sounds of two people breathing in and out of each other in rhythm. The solidity and immovability of his body beneath his clothes inspired wonderful sensations as they moved together, radiating heat through his clothes and her white Orlesian lace, warming her up and there was strength in that, like she could live off of that fire, be rejuvenated by it. In between the breeze in her ears, the orchestra still played, strings with differing pitches that changed from some boring tune to a melody of memory.

She had never been kissed like this. Sebastian's kiss was drunken and sloppy, aggressively only pleasing himself. She had kissed other boys before, but she was young and rich and unsupervised and often ended up in dark rooms with a bunch of other young, rich, unsupervised people and unseemly things always occurred. But those were just play kisses, and never like this one. This was a kiss reserved for a sixteenth name day celebration, crafted for her and her alone.

When he pulled away, still holding her close, for a moment she thought that he might be at a loss for words, because his mouth was still open but nothing was being said. And Corbinian _always_ had something to say.

The seconds passed like ages and when the orchestra changed songs, the silence punctuating the end of the moment, she smiled, "I could still slap you if you like."

He laughed wildly then, pulling her tight against him, "My Sammie, how you have ruined me."

He kissed her again, but it was a softer kiss, a kiss meant as an end to the kissing which was sort of disappointing because she strongly felt like she wasn't nearly as lightheaded from the kissing as she was from the wine. Anyway, the greatest romance stories always had the man kissing the woman until she was utterly spent.

He grinned, "I'm going to send you and your family an invitation to the palace tomorrow."

"First the locket, and now this?" She glanced back at the party that she no longer wanted to rejoin. She wanted nothing more than to stay just like they were. "Beenie, you're going to make me think you're serious."

He offered a roguish grin as he pulled the white rose from her hair, slipping it into the lapel of his coat, "Oh, I'm very serious."

But, always sardonic with that silly shine in his eyes, she had to wonder if he was truly capable of being this serious. He would likely be bored of her by the beginning of winter, just like he was with all the others. Samantha wondered about that as he held her hand while they walked back to the house. She wondered about that as he danced with her again, one final time, before his mother found him and informed him that they were leaving. And she wondered about it again as he kissed her hand and winked at her before strolling out of the house, his jacket over his shoulder, his hand in his pocket. The cheeky bastard.


	4. 9:24 Dragon, Autumn

**9:24 Dragon, Autumn**

The invitation came as promised, but not the next day. In Corbinian-time, _tomorrow_ meant _next week_. Truthfully, she hadn't expected him to fawn over her; it just wasn't like him. In fact, if he had started fawning over her, she would have suspected something truly was off, like he was possessed or maybe hypnotized.

After dinner, as usual, she was gathered with her parents in the study, a book firmly planted in her hands, her mother sitting at her writing desk and her father wandering the length of the room, removing a book, reading a page, turning the page, putting the book back, _ad infinitum_. Tonight's book was _The History of the Chantry, Chapter 1_.

_In those days, even after the devastation of the first Blight, the Imperium stretched across the known world. Fringed with barbarian tribes, the Imperium was well prepared for invasions and attacks from without. Fitting, then, that the story of its downfall begins from within._

_As all downfalls do_, her father had warned her. As if he was implying something, perhaps about herself or Innley, but more than likely he was implying empires and nations.

There were many lessons to be learned from the Blights, four in all. Namely, that family and friends and community are probably the most important thing any human can have. All the stories were fraught with despair and the wreckage leftover after the death of communal spirit, and only salvaged when the people come together to defeat something grand, like tyranny or the Archdemon. To Samantha, all the Blights were simply metaphor for the nature of struggle. And the Grey Wardens were metaphor for the champion within all of us. Her father had always been pleased with those answers, and truthfully, she always loved the stories. But the one thing she never mentioned to her father was that almost universally, the stories involved love. The quintessential human emotion that drove the furthering of existence, whether it was to make babies or to save each other, it was always about love and Samantha liked that, though she would never admit to it out loud. Not even to her mother, who would celebrate such ideals. Something about pleasing her mother was unappealing to Samantha.

"Oh, look," her mother said right then. "An invitation from the Vaels. They have invited us to brunch with them after church service, three weeks from now."

Her father murmured something unintelligible.

"Well this is quite unexpected. Why do you suppose they have invited us?"

Samantha lifted her eyes to her mother – had the invitation not stated it?

"May I see that, mother?" she asked and her mother nodded, bringing out the _good_ stationary, as she called it only because it was trimmed in gold and not white, and began to write back accepting the invitation.

It was a plain invitation, as if written by a secretary.

_His Excellency, the Duke of Starkhaven, brother to the prince of Starkhaven, his Most Worthy Highness, cordially and politely invites you and your family, your wife and daughter, to attend brunch on the day of the autumn equinox after Chantry service. Please RSVP at your earliest convenience._

_With kind regards,_

_The Duke and Duchess of Starkhaven and their sons, Marquess Corbinian and Lord Goran_

What was this? There was no mention of her at all! She tossed the invitation back down to her mother's desk and resettled herself on the red velvet divan, her book lifted to her eyes.

_The Imperium began to tear itself apart from within, throngs of angry and disillusioned citizens doing what centuries of opposing armies could not. But the magisters were confident in their power, and they could not imagine surviving a Blight only to be destroyed by their own subjects._

What would she wear to the palace? She had only been there countless times, it wasn't like he had framed the invitation to suggest anything special, but then again she hadn't told her parents about the locket. Tucked away safely in a drawer in her vanity, she had a thought that maybe she was expected to wear it, though she had yet to find a suitable chain. But was it uncouth to wear the Vael family symbol to a gathering where such relationships have not been made public? He did say that his mother knew. Did that mean Corbinian was going to announce his intention at brunch? Would her father agree to it?

Her father had been so angry that night she had come home with that badly twisted ankle, wine on her breath, and a ripped open dress, and she knew that he blamed her condition on the influence of her friends. He couldn't forbid her from ever seeing a member of the royal family, but he could deny an engagement, should one be proposed. Wait—what? A proposal? Why was she thinking of such ridiculous things? This was Corbinian; the drunken scoundrel who had asked her what color her underwear was in church! With his cheeky grin and the truly naughty way he kissed—

"Samantha!" Her father's voice made her jump. "I've been calling your name three times now."

"I'm so sorry, father." She stood up. "I must have been absorbed in my book…"

"Tell me about what you read." He stood as well, appraising her.

She set the book down. "The book talks about the events that led up to Maferath and Andraste's rebellion against Tevinter. It begins after the first Blight has ended, and the world has been devastated by the magisters' actions that forever tainted the Maker's golden city. The book goes into detail about how the citizens of Tevinter, disillusioned by the silence that spread over the world, splintered into factions, eventually rising up in rebellion against the leaders of Tevinter who came down upon them without mercy. The end of the book introduces us to Maferath and Andraste and their tribe of Alamarri barbarians."

"Stand up straight, dear," her mother remarked casually and Samantha straightened her spine.

"Very good," her father huffed. "Why did the people rise up?"

"Because they were angry."

"At whom?"

"The Old Gods didn't answer their prayers and they blamed the magisters for their disappearance."

"Then why did they burn the temples? Wasn't that a place of solace for their suffering?"

Samantha thought about that. "An act of frustration. They hoped that by burning those places that were the most sacred, no matter if it drew their ire, that their gods would return."

He grunted again, nodding at her. "With more thought I think you'll have it. You'll read Chapter Two tomorrow, and perhaps you'll understand more then."

"Yes, Father."

"Off to bed with you."

"Yes, Father." She placed the book on the side table and made her way out of the room.

They were utterly silent as she left, but once in the hallway she knew they would talk; she didn't particularly care about what. At the top of the stairs, a yawn escaped as she greeted her lady-in-waiting, some elven woman and Samantha didn't know how old. She dressed in drab colors, always looked at the floor, and rarely spoke; sometimes Samantha wondered if she even spoke the common tongue. Like all elves, she was exceedingly graceful, and thus an excellent choice to help her out of her clothing; expertly unwrapping her from her dress, vest, corset, petticoat, stockings, and finally her elaborate hair. Such is the way of things in Starkhaven.

When she finally settled down in bed, the advent of darkness brought new memories. These were thoughts that she reserved for only when she was alone, and they were of Corbinian.

When the day to visit the palace finally arrived—and it seemed like too much time had elapsed —Samantha sat dutifully in her pew during church. The congregation was fanning themselves with elegant fans bought from Orlais or Antiva or some other place that probably seemed foreign and exotic, and all the women were wearing looser dresses with lighter stays. It was unusually hot for so late in the year.

The Grand Cleric's voice was an afterthought, floating through the air like ambient noise, because Corbinian kept looking over at her. He was seated next to his mother, which meant that Samantha couldn't look back at him for too long for fear that Lady Vael would turn her head and think she was staring at her and that would awkward later when they were sharing a table.

Her Grace, Francesca, was saying that man's nature was to rebuild, which was the nature of all things. Most importantly, however, was to recognize what the mistakes were and to learn from them so that the rebuilding process had a greater purpose. She explained that was how and why the Chantry was needed, because man learned from their mistakes about magic and knew the necessity of keeping mages from harming themselves. It was for their protection, she said!

_Protection_. Samantha silently sighed, thinking of her father and her mother and the strange ways that they thought they were protecting their family from Innley, whom she still had not seen or heard from and her parents never spoke of and forbade all the servants from mentioning either. They even had his room stripped and redone. It was like he was dead – no, worse, it was like he had never existed.

The duke and duchess along with the prince and princess of Starkhaven plus the two sons they hadn't given away had left the church already with Goran who, Samantha had noted, had been staring at Flora for most of the service. Samantha had also noted that her friend had looked entirely displeased with the attention. Corbinian met her outside the chantry, waiting for her under the Maker's blistering sun ready to walk her down the granite path leading to the Royal Palace. And—_Andraste's breath!_—he looked just amazing in the sun, his golden skin glowed and his auburn hair caught the sun's rays and seemed to reflect them back. Samantha noted how tanned both of them had become at the end of the summer.

Haveners, as they called themselves, were naturally somewhat dark, though influences from Orlais had lightened their skin over the centuries. Bordering Nevarra and Antiva, two nations known for their wonderfully bronzed skin had kept Starkhaven nicely brown, unlike Ferelden, which was pasty white and quite dirty – at least, everyone said so.

But while Corbinian looked divine in the sun, he seemed entire uncomfortable in his clothes.

"What is this you're wearing?" She felt the sleeves while he scratched at his neck; the nice green high-collared tunic seemed like it itched.

"I don't even know," he groaned. "Likely something from Antiva. Nothing but coarse cotton in that place."

"Next time I visit, I'll let the Queen know."

He smiled, holding out his arm for her to take. "That would save me the trouble of visiting. Then I could go someplace nice. Like Seheron."

She opened her parasol and took his arm. "You will fit right in. I hear the Qunari wear mostly nothing."

"In that case, you should come with me."

He spoke casually, but there was something to that invitation that made Samantha smile. Ideas of traveling with him on long journeys under the sun and the clouds alike, maybe on a boat or carriage. Maybe they would travel all over the world and see everyplace that ever was and meet every type of person and laugh and run and dance and play. Just like they did here, for to the rich, Starkhaven was just a playground on marble and granite with booze instead of swing-sets and sex instead of tag, even if sex was sometimes like playing tag. The way all of her friends went on and on about it, who was having sex with whom, and who wanted to have sex with whom, and on and on until it was almost too boring to even talk about.

"My parents are planning a trip to Nevarra this spring to visit my Aunt." He swatted at a fly. The heat of the day was rising. "Likely, they'll take me and Goran with them."

"Flora will be devastated."

"You caught that, too? And here I thought he was too subtle."

"The way Flora fawns over him, you can probably tell him that he doesn't need subtlety," Samantha jested, spying Goran ahead, his hair was already a little damp with sweat. "Or brunch."

He chuckled again, because even from a distance, Flora's disinterest in Goran was plain to see. Truly, Samantha couldn't believe they were brothers. It was like all the perfect beautiful Vael family traits got caught in Corbinian and everything that was left over spilled into the other brother. Goran wasn't plump, he was just a little pudgy, plus he was sort of dim... often just agreeing with everyone around him. He could scarcely follow Corbinian and Samantha's constant ribbing, but he always seemed far more interested in dessert than conversation anyway. She squinted under the sun, wondering if he had ever read a book.

She stopped thinking about Goran when Corbinian's hand covered hers on his arm and it was then that she became keenly aware of everyone else's awareness of them. The Luxleys, the Harimanns, the Fortneys, the Tylers, the Garritys, the widowed Lady Preston, the Marzianos, and even the Kendalls were exchanging looks and whispers and trying to cover up the fact that they were watching rather intently, from the pair to their parents and back again. The only families that didn't seem to be staring were hers and his. She looked behind her and caught Flora with a very un-subtle grin on her face, giving her a pointed look as if she were accusing Samantha of something.

"It seems like subtlety is something truly lacking in this town." Samantha shook her head, returning her gaze forward.

"Perhaps we should just give them what they want." He stopped in the middle of the path, the giant palace gates looming ahead of them. "Right here."

"And let the suspense die? You know it's what they live for—" But she stopped talking rather abruptly, because he stepped into her, tilting his chin down to speak into her ear, and the looks from the nobles that were passing by on the path were utterly priceless.

"And it's these moments that I live for." His whisper prickled her skin, a little ticklish, but he kept going. "Because after we smile and nod and behave in a mostly charming manner during brunch, I'm going to sneak you away to the stables."

"And if I refuse?"

"I'll make it worth your while."

"Name the terms, then." She couldn't help her smile, because not only was his voice truly naughty, but his body was so close to hers that she could see the stray threads poking out every which way from his tunic, tickling the side of his neck, where a single droplet of sweat was traveling from behind his ear, all the way down... ever so slowly.

"Next week, I will come to your estate for a visit."

"A generous offer, but hardly a worthy payment."

"I didn't say I'd visit your family – just your estate. And I plan on entering through your bedroom window."

She smiled so widely that she felt it in her eyes. She probably blushed too; she was nearly certain, anyway, because one of the nearby ladies—whom she could see over Corbinian's shoulder, craning to get a better earful of their conversation—let out a small but very audible gasp. Corbinian stepped away, turning about to find the culprit.

"Lady Luxley, are you all right?" he called with a sly grin. "It's rather hot, perhaps you should find some shade."

"Oh—yes, yes, my Lord." Lady Luxley giggled like a schoolgirl and curtsied, turning around with her large parasol's tassels swinging behind her.

Corbinian turned back to Samantha, a devilish look in his eyes. She shook her head, but when she said _"Agreed" _she wished that she had an artist to capture his smile.

They entered the estate and it was a marvelous respite from the searing heat of the day. A servant greeted them at the door, holding out a ridiculously large sterling silver tray with glistening glasses of ice-cold white wine, one for each of them. Corbinian knocked his back like it was water, tossing it over to the servant with a wide smile. Samantha sipped hers like a lady while her mother watched, but when both of her parents and Corbinian's parents turned away, she tilted her head back and finished it off. Corbinian took her glass from her hand and tossed it behind him to the servant as they walked past and the man had to scramble to prevent it from shattering on the marble floor.

He tugged at his tunic again. "I'm going to change. I'll meet you on the terrace."

She watched him ascend the first ten steps in four bounds before she started down the hall. The Royal Palace was encased in stone, marble, granite, and clay. These cool stones didn't absorb the heat from the outside, which lent a rather cool air to the interior, but everything else on the inside lent an air of riches. Samantha walked across the thick forest-green rug that stretched the length of the entrance hallway, an intricate design in gold dancing along its edges as she traveled. Thick curtains, velvet and silk, hid the towering windows from view, blocking out sunshine and heat.

The walls were absolutely covered in portraits: Vaels of the distant past, great-great-great-great grandparents and their children and their children's children, with aunts and uncles and second and third cousins so many times removed that Corbinian had never bothered to keep track, because it was just impossible.

Finally, as she neared the end of the hallway, her parents and their highnesses, the duke and duchess Vael, turned the corner passing the portraits of those members of the Vael family that were still alive. Corbinian's mother's portrait was painted on black velvet, the swathes of paint brushed casually, yet beautifully capturing his mother's stunning eyes and her dark hair. His father's portrait was traditional oil on canvas with the Vael family crest in the background, his shoulders square and his visage regal. Finally Marquess Corbinian and Lord Goran in all their Vael regalia and it seemed to Samantha that the artist that had painted Goran had been generous.

On the opposite wall were the prince and princess of Starkhaven and their three sons. Samantha paused to look at Sebastian's portrait: something was a little off, but his calm eyes and gentle smile were just the same. Had it been too long – no, not nearly, only just a few months. She needed to write him back, but she often found herself so caught up in the drama of the moment with the families of her friends that she forgot the obligations her parents didn't enforce.

She heard Corbinian striding down the hallway and stepped back from the painting. He had changed his shirt to off-white linen. Truly, it was a color and texture that suited him. He stopped next to her, looking over at Sebastian's likeness and squinted. "They got his nose all wrong. See?" He lifted his thumb to it, cutting off part of the bridge, and then Samantha recognized him.

"Ah! No wonder..."

"Come on." He led her onto the terrace just as the mimosas were being served, and when they sat down, Corbinian's parents were speaking to her parents of the trip to Nevarra.

"It will likely take a month," his mother was saying, her voice thick with regalia, as if she found it hard to talk like a normal person. "It would please us all."

"Well," her father replied. "Samantha has never been to Nevarra…"

Samantha shot Corbinian a look of shock and he settled back into his chair, popping a grape into his shit-eating grin.

"Think about it," Corbinian's father said. "We have plenty of time to make the arrangements."

"Thank you." Samantha's mother was always gracious. "A most generous offer."

"Think nothing of it." Corbinian's father gestured for the serving to commence. "We consider it our duty to see to the education of Starkhaven's daughters."

Samantha's gaze danced around the table, from her parents to his parents and back to him. He downed a mimosa and held the glass in the air indicating that he wanted another, but he still stared at her, smiling like a devious maniac.

The servants floated into the room by the half-dozen, setting down trays of sweetmeats – smoked, roasted, blackened to perfection – and bright fruits – melons of every color, berries of every size, plump grapes, pears already cut, peaches gently lined with grill-marks, and pitted cherries glistening with a sprinkling of sugar. There were omelets made with perfectly-cut mushrooms, asparagus, zucchini and tomato, topped with goat cheese. Goran eyed the tray of breads, butter, and cheeses imported from everywhere in Thedas, but Samantha's mother widened her eyes at the seemingly endless supply of orange juice and champagne. It was so much more extravagant than the Mayweathers were used to, but that was nothing compared to the centerpiece of the meal. Sitting atop a large plank of cedar rested whole roasted fish easily the length of Samantha's arm, slices of lemon and salt were all that coated its exterior, but it was half-cut revealing a soft white flaky center.

Samantha felt suddenly very tiny, wondering how she was going to eat this meal and not bust out of her dress. She decided to imitate the Duchess, Corbinian's mother, for she was quite slender. It only took a moment to figure out why; she moved slower than molasses. Her fingers extended painfully to point at which items she wanted the servants to decorate her plate with, and she brought each bite to her mouth as if it would be her last, savoring each mouthful. Samantha opted for an omelet and some fruit; breads would fill her up too easy.

"They say that Seheron is lovely in the summer," Corbinian said, almost offhandedly.

His father coughed into his drink. "What? Why would you want to go there?"

"Darling," his mother's voice dripped from her mouth. "Corbinian is joking. Aren't you, dear?"

"No."

"See? He's such a playful boy."

Samantha's father eyed him suspiciously, but her mother was inspecting the silver, and her small smile indicated approval.

"Seheron?" Goran asked, his mouth full of eggs.

"You know, that island that the Qunari and Tevinter are always fighting over?" Samantha spoke up, figuring she should at least try to make a good impression, and Corbinian settled his amused gaze upon her. "You remember from our studies, I am sure."

Goran stared at her like he had never heard that story before. Samantha glanced at her parents; her father was stiffly lifting eggs to his mouth and her mother was delicately spreading butter across toast. The Duke and Duchess Vael had, by now, moved on from their elder son's joke and their younger son's idiocy, but Corbinian was still staring at her, his ankle resting on the opposite knee, his chin in his hand, that ridiculous grin smeared across his face, and he was very clearly waiting for her to finish.

"Oh, stop teasing me, Goran," Samantha added hastily, wishing she hadn't spoke up, but he looked utterly perplexed, which was probably normal for him. In any case, he resumed consuming his brunch with gusto.

"So, Lord Corbinian." Samantha's father sat up straight. "Your father says you are taking the Oath of Starkhaven when you are of age."

"Yes, sir." He nodded. "It is the duty of the Captain of the Royal Army to set an example."

The Oath of Starkhaven was an age-old tradition dating back to the Second Blight. When it became clear that the Archdemon was heading to the city, thousands of women and men had taken a solemn vow to fight for the preservation of the city and its citizens. After the Blight had ended, may more had pledged their lives to continue to protect Starkhaven until their dying breath. Almost two hundred years later, when the Third Blight erupted in Tevinter and Orlais eventually snaking its way down the Minanter, and the Oath became popular once again, with the great-grandchildren and great-great-grandchildren of those who had taken the Oath before taking up the same vows along with the same swords.

It became a badge of honor to have someone in the family who had taken the Oath, yet equally disgraceful when the Oath was broken. Many felt the betrayal akin to treason, and thus the punishment of execution without exception was intended to keep those who weren't serious about the Oath from taking it to gain notoriety. It was mostly meaningless now since it had been so long since the last Blight – nearly four hundred years – but there were some who still took it seriously, such as the Mayweathers, the Garritys, and the Prestons who all had a long line of Oath-takers in their own family histories.

Corbinian was not of age to take the Oath yet; he would need to wait until his nineteenth year where he would stand in front of his family and all the leaders of Starkhaven – the Grand Cleric of the Starkhaven Chantry, the First Enchanter of the Starkhaven Circle, the Knight Commander of Starkhaven's Templar Order and the prince himself – during an elaborate ceremony and swear that the preservation of the city and its citizens would be more important than anything, even his own life. Even the lives of his family and everyone he ever loved. As nephew to the Prince of Starkhaven, it wasn't expected, but Corbinian had decided to take the Oath anyway, owing it to his duty as Captain of the Royal Army. It was one of the few things that he took seriously.

"Good man." Samantha's father naturally approved. "Not enough take the Oath anymore."

"You're quite right, sir," Corbinian agreed; he didn't have to call her father sir, but he did anyway. "It's easy to forget that even the longest peace can be disrupted by a single slight."

"Indeed. Without good men and women behind our leaders, all it takes is for the strongest among us to fall for chaos to splinter the city."

"Not while I'm alive, sir."

Corbinian was putting on a show, and Samantha forked small amounts of eggs into her mouth between bites of melon. It almost looked like her father was warming up to him – almost. Her mother was thoroughly enjoying her omelet. Goran was scraping the small bits from his plate with the back of his fork, licking them off and then repeating the process. Corbinian's father and mother had been paying attention... or at least they wanted to give the impression that they were.

Samantha's mother turned to Corbinian's mother. "I just received the new fashion plates from Orlais. I must say, the inclusion of feather plumes to hats is not really suitable for our weather."

"Quite right," she replied. "They will droop sadly. I read that the best way to combat this is to rub them with a little bit of starch-water, stiffen them up a bit."

Samantha took a long drink from her mimosa and spied Corbinian who was just finishing his own eggs – it took him about five bites.

_"Indeed? Starch! Of course."—"And the perfumes of the season are floral."—"Is that right?"—"I believe the most popular is hydrangea."—"Lovely!"_

They could probably go on all day and Samantha finished her drink, lamenting that her mother could be so stereotypically vapid.

"Lord Mayweather, I wonder if I might take Samantha to see the gardens," Corbinian interrupted their mothers' conversation.

"Oh, _darling_..." His mother's accent stretched out the word. "It's so hot."

"We won't stay out long."

The gardens stretched the length of the property; rows of roses in shades non-native to Starkhaven, the largest collection of chicory in the Free Marches, and pristine white calla lilies that had been shipped in from Antivan merchants who sent hundreds into the marshes to gather exotic plants; only dozens would return. It was a mark of wealth to have so many and the Duchess had ordered them masterfully arranged around a four-tiered white stone fountain that sat in the center of the gardens to show them off. The gardens also required constant watering in the summer, but their fragrance was so intoxicating that bards from all over Thedas would flock to Starkhaven just to see the gardens and become inspired. It was like walking through a colorful painting all the way to the tall hedges that buffered the estate from the stables, the smithy, and training yards.

"All right." Her father nodded slowly, still eyeing the young Vael with some trepidation. "But it's getting into the afternoon…"

"I'll see her home, then." Corbinian responded quickly. "I'm sure after the gardens, Samantha would love to see the sculptures. Perhaps the paintings by Pierre Moreau."

"Oh, I just adore him," Samantha's mother said dreamily, finishing off her mimosa.

"Well…" Her father looked to the Vaels, who were looking back expectantly. This was a brilliant move on Corbinian's part. Her father couldn't really refuse with the royal family sitting there staring at him. "All right."

Corbinian stood up and gave a bow. "Excuse us, then."

Samantha accepted his hand before they casually exited the room and moved out into the searing heat of the day, bursting into laughter and then running off into the garden before her father could change his mind. They paused at the fountain, unbuttoning their collars and running their hands through the warm water which was still cooler than the humid air that pressed down on them.

"Maker, it's hot!" Samantha ran a wet hand over her neck, remembering their deal. "This trip through my window better be memorable."

"Have I ever gone back on a promise?"

Samantha offered a sly grin. "The day is yet young…"

"My Samantha, you wound me! I would sooner run off to the live in the Northern Marshes than break any promise I make to you."

"I'll hold you to that!"

"I'd expect no less." He ran a fountain-whetted hand over his eyes. "Maker! It's hot! Whose idea was it to come out here?"

"I believe it was some reckless, adventuring youth with dishonorable intentions and no knowledge of weather reports." Samantha was damp under her layers of clothes, though her dress and stay were reasonably light. "Next time, we skip the stables and go straight to the window."

"Don't tease me." Corbinian brought his hand up to his brow to shade the sun. "I see salvation ahead."

She could see in the nearing distance the perfectly trimmed high hedges, which were at least twice as tall as Corbinian, and he led them passed the buzzing of honeybees and dragonflies who were intimately inhaling the fragrance of the gardens. She swatted several away who mistook her for some of the daisies as they rounded the corner hedge and pushed open the enormous wrought-iron gate that had grown hot to the touch from the afternoon sunrays.

Passing through the gate was like stepping into another world. There was a layer of dirt covering everything, leaving the air thick and Samantha covered her face to prevent from breathing it in. The training yards were empty, though only the most foolish of warriors would practice in such heat even if it were not a day of service. They passed around a large area encircled by a short fence. Practice dummies set up on sticks jutted out from the earth at severe angles and wooden planks were arranged around the entire area to simulate fighting around obstacles. Beyond that was the smithy's hut, a dark cave-like structure that baked like an oven when the fires were lit on a cool day; Samantha couldn't imagine what it was like on a hot day.

"Behold! Some shade!" He spread his arms wide. "What did I tell you?"

He was staring across the yard to a barn: the stables. She could see that the horses inside were laying down in the straw, hiding from the sun's rays. The hunting dogs were panting, their tongues lolled out of their mouths so far, the tips licked the dirt. The flapping of a few birds could be heard coming from the rafters above.

They stepped into the shade and the sweet smell of dirty animals filled her nose before she could stop it. Lined on the walls were saddles and riding crops, a pitchfork for the straw and a large shovel tinged with brown – she knew what that was used for. She turned to Corbinian, "You didn't mention you were leading me to your room!"

He chuckled at her joke. "Surprise! Come, I'll show you my bed."

The shade lowered the temperature to a palatable level as they collapsed onto a bale of hay, soft, scratchy, and utterly stinky. Samantha knew this smell would be on her when she arrived home.

Corbinian closed his eyes. "Now, we just need some servants."

"I'm going to need a bath." She flopped her arms out wide, and somewhere in the barn, a horse blew his lips out loud.

"In that case, we'll need a washbasin, ten liters of goat's milk to fill it—"

"Goat's milk? Are you bathing or cooking me?"

"You don't bathe in milk, then?" He turned his head. "I've been searching the world for someone else who does, but my mother seems like the only one."

She let loose a string of uncontrolled giggles; the Duchess of Starkhaven bathed in milk! Such extravagance! Such opulence! Surely there were others, but who would own to it? For a fleeting moment, Samantha wondered what the experience was like before she pictured Corbinian's mother, droplets of milk clinging to the ends of her long flowing black hair and her foreigner-skin disappearing into a mysterious pool of opaque white. She shuddered at the thought.

"Sammie…" Her name on his tongue broke her away from those musings. "I'd like your consent to speak to your father."

"About what?"

"I'm going to ask for his permission."

"His permission?" Samantha lifted herself on her elbows. "Are you going to request to _court_ me, Beenie?"

"What? People don't do that anymore?"

"Well… I don't know." She felt a little foolish, because he seemed serious. "No one says anything…" And she meant their friends.

"Don't you think they should? I mean fun is fun, but what's the point otherwise?"

She smiled a little sheepishly, but before she could answer, he reached over with a warm hand, bringing her body to his, and though she was sticky under her light dress, she rather liked this kind of heat.

"Sammie..." He wrapped her up in his arms. "You don't think I'm serious about you? I'm devastated."

She crossed her arms behind his neck. "Clearly."

"I don't duel cousins for just anyone."

"A lesson from Lord Kendall, no doubt."

"I'll prove it to you," he whispered before he kissed that spot behind her ear that made her back arch. She crushed her eyes shut, giggling like mad at the tickling sensation that danced down to her hips, but he had his arms tightly around her body as he shook his head into the side of her neck.

"_Beenie!_"

She let out a small yelp, calling his name again and again; laughing and finally saying something like she believed him, until he stopped and lifted himself from her only to smile impishly.

"Told you I'd make it worth your while."

And when he walked her home just as he promised, winking at her as he kissed her hand goodbye, she felt like a stray cat come home from an adventure with a mysterious tom, dirty and ruffled with straw in her hair as she shoelessly stepped through the door to her estate.


	5. 9:25 Dragon, Spring

_Thank you analect :)_

**9:25 Dragon, Spring**

_Sebastian,_

_Thank you for your letter for I know you to be a gentleman and was so reminded by your eloquent apology. I hope you know that I would never hold hard feelings in my heart for you, and while your behavior that evening was not commendable, I know you as my life-long friend and accept your apology wholeheartedly. Indeed, I would very much like to remain friends._

_I was most disappointed not to have been afforded the opportunity of saying goodbye before you left, but Corbinian has informed me that you are faring well in Kirkwall and I believe he even plans to visit this summer. Though I believe Beenie is trying to arrange for me to accompany him and his family on this trip, __my parents aren't too fond of traveling and now that Innley has been sent to the Circle, I have been gifted with more of their attention. It is my belief that I will remain in Starkhaven for the summer, yet again.  
_

_I admit that I do not know much of your circumstances. I have only been told that you were pledged to the Chantry in Kirkwall by your parents and that you won't be returning which, I have to say, saddens my heart to think I will never see you again. However, if you can find some happiness in your new life, then my heart will surely gladden for you though I will miss the carousing, as we all will. I understand that studies within the Chantry can be all-consuming, but if you find time to write to me occasionally, I will be grateful to correspond in return._

_Also, Beenie claims many things, and if you do end up calling me cousin one day, that will surely be a surprise to us all._

_Your friend from afar, _

_Samantha  
_

Samantha read over the letter three times, rewriting it once before she folded it over again and again, finally pouring a puddle of hot wax and stamping it with her family's seal. The post was coming later in the day and she intended this letter make it out before her parents could rip it open and check its contents. Over the years, she had perfected dodging their interventions.

With a parasol over a shoulder, she sat on one of the benches in the front gardens of her estate waiting dutifully amongst the bright green vines that framed the doorway and the colorful blooming flowers that lined the walk. The winter had been awfully dreary, and once the flowers began to bloom, all of the nobles took to the outdoors, desperate for some color.

Instead of her usual always-in-mourning shades of grey, Lady Preston sauntered by wearing a pink shawl that she had worn once or twice last season. Its fringe had traces of silver and Samantha thought, just like last season, that it was an awfully youthful piece of clothing for an elderly widow to be wearing. Lord Garrity and his son Benjamin stopped to bow and offer gentlemanly greetings, the elder wearing a taupe vest and the younger's doublet was a pleasant green with deep yellow piping. The pair looked dashing. Arianna Marziano in a strawberry-red hat and jacket had strolled by on the arm of someone Samantha didn't know, and thus assumed he was of lower rank. But it was Flora who interrupted Samantha's vigil.

From down the street, she watched her friend politely greet the Garritys. Samantha spotted her by the traditional lavender she almost always wore, in this case a long jacket, but she wasn't carrying a sunshade nor dressed in finery; she was wearing her riding pants. That would explain why her hair was coming loose from the hastily tied ribbon, but there was something off. While her boots were dusted in dirt, her riding pants were strangely clean; usually, her saddle left marks on the back of her legs. She was massaging her forearms and kept stretching her shoulders, as though it was her upper body only that ached. From on the other side of a fence, Samantha had spent years watching her friend learn to ride, and had come to know how taxing the activity could be, not just to the clothes but to the body as well.

Leaning against the front gate with her letter firmly in the breast pocket of her light jacket, she watched Benjamin smile wide, his laughter traveling down the street on the breeze, but Flora didn't match his enthusiasm at their meeting. Samantha often wondered why her friend spurned most suitor's advances – who or what was she waiting for?

Flora was hopelessly trying to pull her hair back into her ribbon when she spotted Samantha watching her musingly. She laughed and sauntered over. "Maker… is everyone outside today?"

"Of course! It's beautiful out. Where did you come from?"

"Nowhere," Flora answered quickly, retrying to tuck her hair back into her ribbon. "I mean, I was riding."

"Where's your crop?"

"My what?"

Samantha crossed her arms across her chest, catching her friend in an obvious lie. "Your crop. You know, that stick that you hit those poor horses with."

"Oh… well, I must've left it." It only took a moment for the façade to fall. "Oh, fine! I was practicing."

"Practicing what?"

Flora displayed her fingers, which were a little callused. "I've been applying a special balm to my hands for years now so no one would notice, but it's not working as well anymore."

"Archery?" She laughed at her friend. "Whatever for?"

Flora shrugged. "I don't know. I like it. And I'm good at it, so why not?"

"Do your parents know?"

"Of course. My father bought me a new bow for my name day last year."

"You said he got you a new vanity."

"Well, he got me that, too."

Samantha nudged her friend playfully and Flora laughed a little, turning her eyes back to the street and they both relaxed back on the bench under the shade of Samantha's parasol. Flora looked like she could use the rest.

Several families walked by, ladies and lords, and the girls said hello to all, politely smiling and nodding and standing up to curtsy to some of the wealthier nobles. Some dirty children managed to appear as well, scrambling around and away and then there were some strange adventuring folk, dirty as street rats from the elven alienage, who paid the girls absolutely no mind whatsoever. A few Templars walked by, some sneering and others leering, but from the safety of her front gate, Samantha could treat them with as much disdain or politeness as she liked.

Finally, the postman appeared and she handed over her letter.

"How long until it reaches Kirkwall?" she asked.

"'Bout a tenday, mistress," the man replied politely. "Kirkwall isn't that far, but she isn't so close either. Might be more if the rains come early."

"Thank you." She offered a small courtesy bow which was his cue to leave and she checked the letters in her hand for anything addressed to her but everything was for her father and mother.

Flora turned a suspicious eye her way. "Who are you sending a letter to in Kirkwall?"

"Sebastian. He finally—wrote to me." She almost said _apologize_, but she didn't want to have to explain why.

"Oh."

Samantha leafed through the letters and packages, wondering if she received any. There was a letter from Orlais, friends who had moved from Starkhaven two summers ago because they just couldn't take the heat any longer. There were three invitations to parties coming up in the next month; Samantha recognized the names of the families in town and knew their party-inviting stationary. There was a small package from Markham, likely from her uncle on her father's side who was always traveling to the strangest places, often small towns rather than big cities, and without fail would send some small trinket from the various placed he stayed. Finally, there was a letter from the Vaels – no wait, it was from Corbinian! She recognized his lazy handwriting. But it was addressed to her father!

Flora peered over her shoulder and her eyes went wide as she reached over and snatched it from Samantha's fingers. "What's this?"

"Give it back!" Samantha chased her around the perfectly trimmed rhododendrons, but Flora was taller and she held the letter high in her hands. "Flora!"

Her friend just laughed, sing-songing her teases. "Whatever could this be?"

Samantha laughed as well, chasing Flora into her estate, the door swinging wide and the servants were left to close it before the heat of the day invaded their carefully shaded interior. Flora easily out-maneuvered Samantha, who was stuck in a long dress as she gave chase up the stairs and down the hall and into what used to be Innley's room, finally cornering Flora near the far window, the one that overlooked all of Starkhaven all the way to the Circle.

"It's addressed to my father!" Samantha pointed the tip of her parasol in Flora's direction. "You can't open it!"

Flora opened up the sides a little without breaking the wax seal, bringing it up to her squinting eyes. "Maybe I can—"

But Samantha snatched it away just like that and went careening down the hallway to her parents' study, Flora on her heels and they were laughing like they used to when the things that held the most import were flowers and dresses and books, and where to go outside to catch butterflies and learning to dance and sing and play the piano, way before topics like boys seemed to overshadow all of those things.

They burst into her parents' study, the large wooden doors swinging so wide that they banged up against the wall and her mother let out a cry of shock at the suddenness and loudness of their entrance.

"Father!" Samantha was breathless with Flora behind her, but she quickly composed herself when he gave her an incredulous scowl. "Pardon us, Father, the post has arrived."

"Maker's breath!" Samantha's mother exclaimed with a hand on her chest. "The post arrives every day, Samantha, I don't see why this day should require such tumult!"

"My apologies, mother." She curtsied. "Just a bit of fun with Flora. I didn't mean to alarm—"

"We won't have this behavior from you." Her father's voice was stern. "You are no longer a child but a lady and should be acting as such."

"Yes, Father." She kept her eyes to the floor and Flora stood at her side in similar posing.

"Well, bring it here," he huffed, and she obeyed. "Ahh, now I understand. This is the Vael family seal, is it not?"

Samantha was going to answer him, but her mother's interest piqued enough to turn her nerves from frayed to calm. "Oh? Are we invited to another brunch? I so enjoyed their company."

"Not exactly," her father grumbled, reading the letter. "Samantha, you may go."

"But father—"

"Are you going to make it a habit to defy my wishes?" He looked up to her pointedly.

"No, Father. I'm sorry." She curtsied again before turning on her heels and leaving the study. Flora grabbed her by the hand, and they broke into a run down the hallway to Samantha's room. Once inside, they closed the door, laughing like ridiculous girls who had just got away with breaking all the rules.

"Beenie sent that, didn't he?" Flora plopped down on Samantha's giant bed. "A letter from one Vael and then another! Pretty soon, you'll have Goran writing to you, too."

"The Vaels write letters to everyone."

"Maybe to you," she muttered sullenly.

Samantha had always known that Flora thought Sebastian was handsome – they both did – and once or twice she may have suspected that Flora would have reciprocated such feelings had Sebastian propositioned her, but Flora had never told her about any such event. Though they were best friends, as the years had taken their adolescence, Flora had grown with secrets. Samantha had watched as she withheld more and more in her desire to be unique.

At first it was little things, like special dolls from foreign countries that she didn't want Samantha to order or specialty sweets that she wanted served at her parties and no one else's and so she would never tell anyone what she liked. As they got older, Flora clammed up about nearly all of her preferences; clothes, jewelry, food, sport, boys, girls, places, and numerous other favorites. It was like she didn't want to like what everyone else liked and didn't want anyone else to like what she liked and always displayed irritation when someone else would declare fondness for something she had shown affection for. It left Samantha feeling somewhat sad, because she would go on and on about her tastes and Flora wouldn't say much in return aside from the usual _that's lovely_ or _good choice_. Only when pressed would her friend admit to her fancies.

Enough time had passed for the secrets to form a life of their own, breeding inside her like the fish in the Minanter. Now it was archery – it didn't seem to matter what it was, just that no one else did it, and no one knew about it. But on this day, Flora finally lowered the curtain a little and Samantha spied her friend true.

It started with Samantha's offhand comment: "If it's a Vael you want, Goran seems quite keen on you."

"Oh Maker, don't make me vomit." She stuck out her tongue in disgust. "I miss our friends, I guess. Ruxton, too. He's always going on about Sebastian. Think he'll ever come back?"

"No," Samantha said simply. "He's a brother of the Chantry, likely to become an initiate. He will take Andraste for his bride and—"

"Ahh!" Flora brought her hands to her face, throwing herself backwards on Samantha's bed, her elbows pointed to the ceiling.

"Flora?" Samantha rolled to her side, propping herself up on her elbow. She imagined that if she could see Flora's face, she would see the rest of her friend's secrets.

"It's nothing."

"It's not nothing!" When Flora didn't respond, Samantha said, "What did I say? Is it Sebastian?"

Flora made a whimpering noise.

Samantha hopped up to her knees. "It _is_ Sebastian!" But her smile faded. "Oh, Flora…"

Her friend sighed loudly, her arms falling out to the sides. "He would visit our estate in Kirkwall and stay with us at least three times a year. He and his brothers and his mother while his father had business in town organizing trading partners and such. We used to play chess and read books and walk around Hightown. The lot of us used to be so close. Then we all got older, and his brothers married and Brett married, and now they all have tiny babies and…"

"Why did you never tell him?" Samantha asked gently.

"I did!" she wallowed in response. "It was a summer night in Kirkwall, the night of the Annual Masked Ball – you know that big party the Viscount throws every year since the Empress visited almost… what, ten years ago? Whatever, anyway… we weren't allowed to go, and so we went to the roof, drank a bunch of wine, watched the revelers in their crazy masks and elaborate gowns… And he kissed me. Under the stars with the music in the air. It was glorious… But then he didn't remember anything the next time I saw him. He must have been really drunk. But I remembered. And now he's gone…"

"Why did you never tell _me_?"

"Because…" Flora sat up, finally meeting Samantha's eyes, her own brimming with rarely displayed guilt. "I thought he liked you. And I was afraid you liked him back and I didn't want… Oh, I'm terrible."

Samantha just smiled and grabbed her hand. "I've never had my eye on him. And even if I did, if I had known how you felt, I would have pushed him from my thoughts right then. There are plenty of boys out there, Flora. Let Sebastian go and find another to fill your heart."

"You're so much better at this than me." Flora sighed loudly again, and then she turned to look about the room. The afternoon sunshine softly pushed through the curtains and they sat for a moment before she said: "Have you got any wine?"

They laughed, but Samantha silently lamented all the boys who pined for Flora Harimann, and the one boy who likely never would.

"It's just as well." Flora sighed. "My mother always drove his family batty. She is so jealous of his mother with her wealth and stature…"

"Well, your mother is an overachiever then, because the Vaels are about as wealthy and stature-ly as they come!"

"Speaking of, I'd better go. My mother will have my hide if I'm not washed up in time for dinner."

"Oh, right!" Samantha jumped to her feet in agreement.

She hugged Flora before seeing her to the door and rushing back upstairs to clean up. While brushing her hair, she spied the locket inside her vanity but instead decided on a diamond pendant that her father had given her on her fourteenth name day. When she arrived for dinner, her mother looked positively rosy, aglow with some kind of delightfulness dancing around her head. On the other side of the table, her father looked grumpy.

"Father, may I ask what was in the letter?" Samantha asked politely as an elf poured her a glass of sweetwine and another elf served her a fresh cut of salmon topped with some kind of creamy sauce.

Her father grumbled, and so her mother answered for him, the corners of her mouth were bouncing all over her face as if she was trying to compose herself and failing. "The young Marquess, Corbinian, has requested an audience with your father."

"Oh?" Samantha played innocent as another elf rolled some asparagus spears onto a separate plate. "Has he a position for father? Perhaps at court?"

"No." Her father spoke plainly. "He wishes to speak about you."

"Me? Well, I certainly hope I have done nothing to offend…"

Another elf set down a small single-serving soufflé on yet another plate.

"Oh don't be silly, darling," her mother said. "We believe his intentions are honorable."

"Honorable…" Samantha nearly laughed at the word, for Beenie was honorable in the way that all scoundrels were. "Are you implying—?"

"Cut the act." Her father's tone was biting. "I know that you spend a lot of time with him, but from everything we know about him, he is reckless, juvenile, without respect for his elders or the young ladies he is often rumored with."

Samantha lifted an eyebrow, feeling that she knew more about Corbinian than her parents. He was often rumored to be in the company of many girls before his year spent in Nevarra. Upon his return however, it seemed like he had changed all of that. Though, perhaps still wicked, she hadn't caught him staring at any girl except for her. Her father's mention of it, however, left splinter of doubt in her mind – was Corbinian truly different? Or was she now the conquest? Her parents were definitely more strict than the rest of her friend's parents – could that be part of her allure? She didn't like having these thoughts.

"Do you like him, then? Do you want me to give him a favorable answer?" Her father pressed her for an answer.

And there it was: a direct question that she could finally give a direct answer to. She felt weird about the answer for moment, because it was sort of like asking for permission to kiss him madly in front of them, which felt awkward, and what if her father was right? Though still apprehensive in her dealings with Corbinian, she had begun to suspect he meant his claim of seriousness with her. What if she were mistaken?

"Well?" her father prompted her again, seemingly aware of his intimidation tactics.

"Yes, father. I would," she said, and then realized that she had been holding her breath. The servants behind her sounded like they were holding their breath, too.

"So you like this boy." It wasn't a question.

"Yes, Father."

"How much?" he demanded.

Samantha blinked. "Pardon?"

"_How much_?" he repeated, scowling at her.

Maker, did they already imagine her virginity spoiled?

"Um… a lot?"

"How much is that? If you can't answer—"

"Darling," her mother interrupted, and Samantha felt like she might cry under his interrogation. "You're being awfully harsh with her. Allow her to answer you with her heart."

He huffed, grouchy and grumbling. "Fine."

And then both of her parents looked to her expectantly, and she just stared back at them.

"Darling…." Her mother's gentle voice prompted her again, but Samantha suspected she just wanted her to convince her father to speak of Corbinian favorably. With his agreement, Lady Mayweather could tell all of her friends that her daughter would soon be royalty.

Samantha swallowed hard, glancing down at the glistening pink fish on her plate. "Beenie and I have been friends for as long as I can remember." She looked to both her mother and father. The former had her brows raised and her mouth turned upwards, encouraging her to continue, and the latter had his brows creased, his mouth turned down as if he had just eaten a lemon. "He is a gentleman, he would never injure me—" At least, she hoped that were true. "—and he is going to take the Oath of Starkhaven." Her father's brow's relaxed a little at that. "And I think further proof is that he wrote to you requesting an audience to discuss this." Her father's frown let up. "He is royalty, to be sure—" Her mother liked that part. "—but he is also a noble and he will be kind to me. He has always been."

And that last part was true, she thought. He had always been kind to her… well, at least since that incident with the painting oils when she was five.

"I'll consider it." Her father picked up his silver and cut into his fish. "Send them a letter will you, dear?"

"Of course, darling," her mother gushed, nearly breathless in anticipation of the task.

The letter was simply an acknowledgment and their non-refusal, but it was sort of a refusal in itself. It stated that her father would like to know him better before he granted him audience. Her mother penned it that evening while Samantha continued to read _The History of the Chantry_, having made it past the first two chapters which could have been books in themselves. Her father's customary page-crinkling was a little more animated that night, but Samantha and her mother ignored it.

No doubt her mother would press matters on this topic with her father behind chamber doors, because after all, it was an advantageous match – both financially and socially should it progress that far. But there was the matter of Corbinian's reputation, which was, to say amiably, not entirely agreeable. Samantha knew her parents, and it was only a matter of time before they changed their minds about him, likely under Corbinian's charming wiles - assuming this wasn't some elaborate royal ruse to satiate some carnal desire.

It was only after the lights were out later that night, when she dwelled on matters deeper that she thought herself foolish for thinking so unfavorably of Corbinian. Sebastian... perhaps, but such a ruse would have been entirely out of character for Corbinian. This was Beenie! She had never met anyone who could make her laugh more genuinely nor shock her so completely. He was crass and deviant yet sexy, funny, and quick of wit. While her mother was already won over by his title, her father required more, though everyone would agree that she couldn't do much better than the Marquess of Starkhaven. But if there was anything Samantha felt certain about, it was that she could find no better match than Corbinian Vael.


	6. 9:25 Dragon, Summer

**9:25 Dragon, Summer**

_Samantha, Samantha, fairest of the fair,_

_The stories always describe Nevarra as beautiful and lavish, like Starkhaven's slightly less wealthy cousin. Don't believe them, Sammie! It's a brutal place. There are wild men here wandering the streets, barely clothed, dragging women behind them by their hair. It's all I can do to avoid their spears and decipher their grunts, and only because I have been trained by the masters at court. I'm always being stopped on the street and asked, "And where are you headed on this fine day?" as if one never travels about town for the enjoyment of it – truly, these Nevarrans are a savage people! So don't worry, all right? You aren't missing anything._

_My mother keeps saying how fine the weather has been, my father keeps giving me stern looks, and Goran disappears better than an Antivan Crow. Basically, it's a bore without you here. I was ready to return to Starkhaven the moment we arrived, but I will endure the trials of this place if only to build some character and know suffering. Sometimes, often when intoxicated, I even miss the talks with your father. Opining on the dangers of mages and the tensions between Orlais and Ferelden never sounds appealing until you're faced with yet another party, endless in its predictability, what with the same string of giggling girls and stupid boys who can't grasp the idea of sarcasm much less form coherent sentences. When I suggested that the Pentaghasts should tear down their palace and just build an elaborate tent, since they never seem to be at home and are always out in the wilderness anyway, they looked at me like I was serious and wanted to argue how impractical that was._

_Perhaps it's best your father didn't allow you to come; I fear these people would have sucked the life from your bones as they attempt with mine. I guess seeing my family is nice and everything and my aunt loves you already, as I have described you down to the last detail. She is looking forward to meeting you, as I believe she plans to stay with us in Starkhaven for a short time as we travel back from the much-anticipated royal wedding in Ferelden._

_Write to me, Sammie. I miss you._

_Your Royal Scoundrel, Corbinian_

So he missed her... The Marquess of Starkhaven, inheritor of the all the land north of the Northern Gate to Starkhaven and just south of the marsh, future Captain of Starkhaven's Royal Militia, and heir to the Golden Torch of Corin… and he missed Samantha. A nobleman's daughter of no great importance, stature, descendent, or wealth.

"What are you grinning about?" Benjamin Garrity asked her, smiling from ear to ear.

They were all seated in the gardens, Benjamin sitting next to Arianna Marziano, Helena Luxley, and Vincent Tyler, the latter two clasping hands like they would both die if they ever let go. Standing a little ways away near the gates was Helena's chaperone, one the Luxley's more humorless guards.

During the summer months when their friends were vacationing in exotic places, those who were left – and always Samantha was left in Starkhaven – gathered together and read the letters they received from their absent friends. Samantha could have brought that letter with her, but she had left it at home as she'd read it so many times the edges of the parchment were turning soft. She had received another letter from Corbinian the day previously, and was intending to read the newest one instead, but his words still popped into her thoughts every now and then, most notably when she was near the royal palace, as she was today.

Just before the royal family left Starkhaven to start their summer tour of Thedas, the prince had held an elaborate ceremony to open the royal gardens to the public – something no prince before had ever done. The nobles groused that commoners and the impoverished would likely destroy the neighborhood, but those complaints had not yet found solid grounding. A few commoner children ran around attempting to catch butterflies, but that was about as close to roughhousing as anyone got. It also helped that guards were posted strategically around the gardens during visiting hours to discourage troublemakers.

The five friends had taken the opportunity to enjoy each other's company in the summertime gardens, which were alive with color and fragrance. While reading their letters aloud, every once in a while, a breeze swept through and ruffled the ribbons of Arianna's dress, of which there were many. Helena was sitting under a parasol, and Samantha, like Arianna, was wearing a wide-brimmed hat styled with a long lace ribbon. Benjamin and Vincent sat exposed to the sun, but neither seemed to mind it. An insect buzzed nearby but no one looked away from Samantha.

Arianna pressed her further, her tongue danced over the words in her thick Antivan accent. "A love letter, yes? From Beenie?"

Samantha lifted up the newest letter, still folded in her hand. "This is not a love letter, and if it were, I wouldn't read it to any of you."

As if choreographed, the four of them groaned, rolling their heads around on their shoulders and Samantha laughed at their disappointment. The five of them were seated on soft blankets, accompanied by a small picnic basket that held a bottle of wine – which was nearly empty. They had consumed the mangos that Arianna brought, the sweetmeats that Benjamin provided, the finger sandwiches that Helena Luxley contributed, and the shortcake that Samantha offered – all made by their respective house chefs – and were now working their way through Starkhaven's famous Tyler Estates Wine. Vincent's family owned several vineyards just outside the city's southern gates.

It had been a boring spring, and the early summer proved even less fun; it seemed like half of Starkhaven had decided to leave town. The entire royal family had traveled to Nevarra City, just as they had planned, and they were going to swing back south and head through Kirkwall on their way to Ferelden to attend the wedding of the newly crowned King Cailan Theirin and Anora Mac Tir. An arranged marriage – those Fereldens were strange. No one in Starkhaven had been arranged to be married in over two hundred years, and that last time had been a farmer wedding his daughter to a butcher's son.

That was not to say that families didn't encourage matches – in fact, Helena and Vincent were the result of such encouragement, as Lady Luxley had been quick to transfer her daughter's affection from Innley to Vincent, perhaps as a measure of protection for their family. To be associated with magic was a black mark on any family's name.

"Who's first?" Samantha asked the group.

"Me!" Arianna beamed. "I have a letter from Flora, but it's a month old."

Flora's family spent part of every spring and summer at their estate in Kirkwall, and most assumed it was because of Lord Harimann's holdings, of which several were in their sister city to the south. Samantha had received a letter from her friend as well, and assumed that both letters said the same thing, but Arianna's wasn't as personal as hers, and Samantha wondered if she had finally cracked Flora's thick wall of secrets.

Arianna began.

"Dear Arianna." Her accent rolled the r's wildly. "Ruxton and I have been in Kirkwall for two months and I have to say that my memories of this city seem false. Our estate here is so small sometimes I can't breathe. My room barely has enough space to fit all my furniture. The noblemen and women dress like peasants in dull fabrics without patterns or hats!"

Helena laughed out loud. "No hats? Andraste's mercy… how can _anyone_ stand to live in Kirkwall?"

Samantha giggled. "Maybe they all have a lot of hair?"

"I hear the Viscount is bald," Vincent chimed in. "His head is as smooth and shiny as an apple."

"And just as dense!" Benjamin had the final say and everyone laughed at his joke.

Arianna continued. "Maybe I was too young to notice or perhaps Starkhaven has grown more luxurious over the years, but I feel like a tourist in this city that has historically always felt like a second home. Truly, it breaks my heart. Next week we set sail for Ferelden. I suppose I can't expect a great step up in decorum."

"That's for sure," Benjamin interrupted; he was never one to withhold his thoughts.

Arianna ignored him. "I saw Sebastian Vael the other day during service, and he seemed quite different in appearance, but still his usual self in temperament – he sends his warm regards."

Samantha bit her tongue, because Flora had written something entirely different in her letter. She had waxed poetic on how beautiful he was – it had been two years since anyone had seen Sebastian and she claimed he had become one of the most beautiful men she had ever seen, and even the chanters in the Chantry, most of whom were women, were taken with him. But he hadn't spoken to Flora much at all. In fact, she had conveyed extreme disappointment in how distant he'd seemed. She had invited him for tea, for walks, tried to make him laugh with jokes and stories about Starkhaven, but nothing seemed to get through. _I can't make him see me,_ she had written in obvious frustration. Flora's mother, Lady Johane, had encouraged her daughter to keep after him – marriage to a royal was probably Lady Johane's dream for her daughter, but Flora wanted to be loved. In her letter to Samantha, she had lamented her mother's cold and loveless marriage, stating that she would never settle for what her mother had – no matter the gain in title and stature the match might bestow upon her.

Flora's mother was not of noble birth and not from Starkhaven. She had been born in a small village just outside of Tantervale, Starkhaven's sister city to the west. A beauty in her youth, Lady Johane had caught the eye of a young Lord Harimann at just sixteen, and smartly wed herself into noble status. The pair had produced two children in four years, but it seemed to everyone in Starkhaven that their coupling was out of obligation. Lady Johane was a cold woman; she didn't even seem to like holding her husband's arm during walks after service.

Arianna got Samantha's attention when she read: "Beenie arrived yesterday, and I never thought a Vael's skin could turn more brown. The Nevarran sunshine sure did him some favors. Unfortunately, his brother also arrived with him, and the more he stares at me, the more I want to retch. Fortunately, Beenie has been most kind in keeping me apprised of Goran's plans so that I may avoid him."

"Ha!" Vincent laughed, shaking his head. "If she knew him, she wouldn't think that about him."

Arianna set down the letter. "Oh? You know Goran Vael so well, do you?"

Helena turned a clever eye to Arianna. "Let's just say that he's not as weak as everyone thinks."

"Oh, ho!" Arianna bounced on her blanket. "Secrets! You must tell!"

"Wait a minute…" Benjamin held out his hands; his wine glass was empty. "Is this going to ruin my impression of Goran? 'Cause if so, I don't want to hear it."

Arianna shushed him, and he laughed in response.

Vincent smiled. "He's actually a thoughtful guy if you ever talk to him. I mean, if you can get him to talk to you. I just don't think he pays much attention to people. Makes him seem, I don't know… dim."

Samantha listened to the exchange with some interest, recalling her own painful conversation with Goran over eggs at brunch the previous autumn. Had he really just been distracted? Maybe he knew where Seheron was after all.

"Interestink." Arianna didn't talk like everyone else. "I will have to speak with him when he returns. Maybe he is more like—" She lowered her voice suggestively. "—the strong, silent type."

Helena rolled her eyes, but Samantha laughed.

"Please continue." Vincent waved his free hand at Arianna and she gave him a nod of deference.

"I wish both Samantha and you could have come along, but her parents are more strict than everyone else's, and your father whisks you away to exotic places – more exciting than Kirkwall and Ferelden, I imagine."

"Why didn't your parents let you go?" Helena asked Samantha. Everyone had known about the Vael family's invitation to her.

"My father despises the very idea of setting a single foot anywhere near Ferelden. Calls it dirty," Samantha explained. "It's just as well because my mother claims an allergy to mabari, which is odd considering that she's never even seen one."

"They are gross," Arianna confirmed; she had traveled all over Thedas with her father – Flora was right about that. "Slobbery and itchy. And so stinky. Honestly."

Benjamin groaned again. "Great. So Flora will return with fleas as souvenirs!"

Arianna muttered something about how that statement was true before she continued with Flora's letter. "Sometimes, I wish my parents were too, but their attention is always elsewhere. Even now they are overly preoccupied with expanding this house as they have hired a mason and a carpenter and are looking into tunneling under the basement to create another floor. Indeed, they probably feel—"

Arianna paused, staring at the page, finally showing it to Samantha who laughed and said: "Claustrophobic."

"Claus—what?" She didn't know the word.

"It means…" Benjamin's eyes rolled around in his head as he tried to figure out a way to describe it. "It means…"

Helena took over. "It's like when you are feeling crowded."

"_Che cosa_?" Arianna didn't get it, this time in Antivan.

"Like being in an enclosed space," Vincent offered.

Samantha finished for him. "And feeling like you're going to suffocate."

"Oh!" Arianna beamed; she was an amiable girl. She returned to the letter and read, "Indeed, they probably feel claus-ter-pho-bic at its efficiency as well. I suppose I should keep my eyes open next week for some teyrn's son… maybe I can have a wild fling in Ferelden and come back besotted. Wouldn't that be somesink? Hope you are well, Flora."

Benjamin leaned back on his elbows. "That would be _something_."

"She will never settle down," Arianna lamented with an airy voice, ignoring Benjamin's mockery. "Flora is too stubborn for a match, I sink."

"If she knows what she wants, she should go after it," Helena announced, and everyone turned their heads. "There's no need for any of us to settle for a loveless match."

Samantha had never seen her display such conviction, and she briefly wondered what kind of match Helena and Innley would have made. Samantha sat up straight. "I agree. Flora is set to inherit a vast estate – she doesn't need to marry for money like her mother did. She should wait for—"

"For what? Love?" Benjamin smirked.

"Yes," Samantha declared with loftiness. "For love."

Arianna raised her glass into the air, though it was empty. "_Per amore_!"

Helena lifted her empty glass as well and Samantha joined them while both boys rolled their eyes.

"_Love_," Benjamin huffed. "You girls are all such suckers. Love is a myth, a delusion – my father says so. He says he's seen both men and women do absolutely insane things and claim it was for love. And you know, people claim love all the time – most likely it's just the wine talking." And then he lifted his glass, too.

Benjamin's father, Lord Garrity, the title bestowed on his family two centuries ago by the prince of Starkhaven for loyal service at Court, had written volumes on the law of the Free Marches, and occasionally advised members of the Starkhaven Council on legal matters. Having studied the law in four different cities, he was well versed. His opinions on matters of romance were likely formed because he had personally seen to several divorces. Such dissolutions were scandalous in Starkhaven, but elsewhere, like the Anderfels and Rivain, marriages came and went with the tide.

"You are such a cynical, Benji," Arianna declared, and no one pointed out her mispronunciation of the word. "Love is grand! Everyone should fall in love. At least a dozen times!"

Benjamin shook his head reprovingly. "You are so _Antivan_. Name me one married couple in love."

The Antivan girl smiled wide, brushing her long blonde hair over her shoulder in triumph as she stated: "Our future prince of Starkhaven."

"HA!" Benjamin startled her with his guffaw. "He only cares about his heir!"

"_Bugie_!" She accused him of lying. "He returned just last week – he cut their trip short because he cared about his wife's health! Not just the baby, _scemo_." _Scemo_ was her favorite nickname for Benjamin, and as best Samantha could tell, it was another word for _stupid_.

"Not a chance." Benjamin was smiling so widely at having riled Arianna up, that Samantha thought they were going to start kissing madly at any second. It wouldn't be the first time.

"I heard that they made it as far as Orlais before they discovered her condition," Samantha announced, trying to put out the foreplay fires. "And he didn't want to set one foot into Orzammar because our future leader believes the dwarves provide better medicine to nugs than humans. I, for one, am quite disappointed because I am certain that the dwarves could have taught her some nursery rhymes that could double as drinking games."

Helena giggled. "I bet everything in Orzammar could double as drinking games. Even their drinking games."

Vincent chuckled at his girl, never letting go of her hand.

"Love is a drinking game, too." Benjamin lifted the bottle of wine from the picnic basket, disappointed to find it empty. "Because inevitably, you wake up one day and realize you're out of booze and married to a person who is absolutely intolerable without alcohol."

"Not everyone's marriage is like your parents'!" Arianna teased.

Benjamin turned a playful glance her way. "I think you'd be surprised, Ari. Men and women aren't made to be monogamous. Love is just society's way of tricking us into it."

"Ugh," Helena stuck out her tongue. "Sammie, please save us and read Beenie's letter now."

Arianna clapped her hands. "Yes! I bet there's a love letter in there somewhere!"

Samantha laughed, and obligingly unfolded the parchment in the shade of her wide-brimmed hat. "I received this only yesterday… To my Samantha—" Arianna giggled and Benjamin groaned, but Samantha steeled her resolve and continued: "You missed one hell of a wedding. Cailan and Anora were wed in a traditional ceremony, but when Ruxton, brandishing a sword and wearing only a cape, swung from the chandelier professing his love for the bride, that's when things started to get out of hand."

Helena gasped, but Vincent only laughed. "It's clearly in jest!"

Samantha gave him a mischievous grin and continued: "Of course, Cailan wouldn't stand for such an insult and challenged Ruxton to a duel. The duo met on top of the city's jail – an odd meeting place, but the people of Ferelden are an odd lot – and dueled to the death."

"Oh no!" Arianna brought her gloved hands to her mouth. "No one should make light of duels! I've watched men and women get cut down for much less! It is not so pretty a sight."

"What?" Benjamin didn't believe a word of it. "Where have you seen street duels?"

Arianna shuddered at the memory. "My father took me home on my last name day, _scemo_. When we got off the boat, there were two men arguing over the price of fish. They decided to butcher each other instead."

"Eww," Samantha breathed.

Helena made sour face. "Don't tell stories like that!"

"Yeah, really. We just ate." Vincent agreed.

"He asked!" Arianna turned on them all, and in response they leveled their blame on Benjamin, who just laughed.

"Go ahead." Benjamin waved his hand. "How does it end? Does Ruxton die?"

Samantha lifted the letter up, giving Benjamin her best warning glare before she continued. "I'm sorry to report that Ruxton won't be returning because he's now the new King of Ferelden."

Arianna and Benjamin burst out laughing, but Helena looked confused as Vincent patted her hand gently.

"It's probably a joke," her assured her. "Keep going, Sammie."

"Goran missed the entire show, and indeed I rarely saw him because he had discovered a place called The Pearl, which up until three days before we left, everyone thought was an art gallery but turned out to be a brothel."

More laughter ensued but Helena was aghast, and she turned her head away from them all.

Samantha thought it best to keep going. "My aunt is dying to meet you and has requested to dine with your family when we return before she travels on back to Nevarra. Truly, I think she loves me more because of you and I might have even said a few things in my drunken idiocy that made her weep. Of course now she thinks I possess a talent at wordplay and actually requested bits of poetry! Poetry! From me! But I'll be home in less than a month – in time for your name day celebration! Your Paragon, Beenie."

Arianna clapped her hands. "The love letter bits!"

"His aunt wants to meet you?" Helena's eyes widened in awe, and she added knowingly, "You know what that means, Sammie-"

"Wait a minute!" Benjamin interjected. "What about Ruxty?"

"His Highness?" Samantha asked innocently.

Benjamin exchanged a glance with Vincent. "Come on!"

Silence.

Arianna studied Samantha carefully. "No… he's joking!"

Samantha couldn't hold it back any longer and pointed her finger at Benjamin. "I had you! I totally had you."

"Damn you, Sammie!" He thumped over the picnic basket and snatched the letter from her fingers, finishing the last bit. "P.S. Everything about King Ruxton was a lie. Cailan and Anora got married. The end. P.P.S. By the way, I miss the—"

Samantha hopped up and yanked the letter back before he could finish the sentence and Benjamin's mouth opened wide in revelation.

"Shut up!" she warned him before he even spoke.

Arianna bounced up and down again. "More love letter bits!"

Samantha pointed a finger at him. "Not a word."

He offered an amused bow, as insolent as it was exaggerated, and she knew that Arianna would have the last sentence out of him before the end of the day. Stupid Benjamin Garrity… though she couldn't blame him; she would have done the same to him.

Helena's chaperone appeared behind her. "It's getting late."

"I'll walk you home." Vincent was quick to offer.

Helena glanced between the guard and Vincent. "Oh, yes, of course."

Samantha inwardly sighed; from the way Helena looked at Vincent, she doubted that this was a union of love.

Benjamin and Arianna continued to bicker, and Samantha quietly snuck out of the garden with her shoes in her hand. She loved the feel of the granite path on her bare feet. So smooth and cool. As she walked home, she read his letter again, feeling certain that Benjamin was wrong about the idea of love.

When she arrived home, there was an unopened letter waiting for her in the hands of her favorite servant – her favorite, because she accepted bribes to keep letters secret so Samantha's parents wouldn't read them – and it had the grand seal of the Chantry of Kirkwall upon it. Curious. Sebastian had written her a letter? Once behind the closed door of her room, she set down at her writing desk and cracked the seal.

_Samantha,_

_Please forgive the long delay of this response._

_I have wanted to write to you for some time now, but sometimes, quite often when I think of you, the weight of regret takes the words from me and locks them into my heart. I have been deep in meditation here at the Chantry in Kirkwall, praying to Andraste and I didn't feel I could write to you until I had some kind of answer to the purpose of my life. _

_About three months ago, I was sneaking out of the Chantry to a late-night rendezvous… which turned out to be with the Grand Cleric, Elthina. I was caught and I knew it, but she set a heavy bag of coin in my hands, and it was enough to run away to any land and make a new life, free from my parents and titles and the Chantry and everyone, but when I thought about where I should go and what I should do, all I could think was that I would be found drunken on the floor of some tavern somewhere, scraped up and thrown out with the rest of the waste. It was then that I thought of your letter. _

_You claim I am a gentleman and a good person, but I am not and I was not. I think about how I was in Starkhaven… useless, aimless, selfish._

_It was your words in your letter that shamed me more than you could ever know, and before I knew what I was doing, I was back inside the Chantry, and I gave the bag of coin back to Elthina and went back to my room. I think Andraste led me here, to Kirkwall, to Elthina, who has been more of a mother to me than my very own. She is compassionate and wise and everything a Grand Cleric should be._

_I feel so small in the world now. I never fully understood that we are only here because of Andraste's sacrifice and it fills me with a shame greater than I can bear that I treated my life so worthlessly when it should have been treasured, every moment of every day, and every person I ever knew should have been treated with kindness and love and respect._

_I am not writing to shame you, or to talk you into changing your life. I think I made that mistake when Corbinian came to visit me recently, because he left quite angry. Elthina says to change another's heart, one has to lead by example, which is what I am going to try to do. I am sure you will hear all of this, but I wanted you to know what's in my heart, Sammie. You more than anyone._

_I have changed. I think I am going to stay here. I think maybe the Chantry is where I belong. I will write to you when I can, and I hope you continue to write to me._

_May the Maker watch over you,_

_Sebastian_

Just his name. No longer a Vael. No longer a prince. A new city with a new family, but Samantha wondered about this new purpose: was it is something he felt strongly about, or was it strongly felt about by those around him?


	7. 9:25 Dragon, Autumn

**9:25 Dragon, Autumn**

"Oh, hoo, hoo, hoo!" Lady Pentaghast's sing-song laugh was utterly infectious, and her blue eyes sparkled. "My dear, you are ever as delightful as my nephew described!"

Samantha could see she had once been a great beauty. Now older, she had the fine lines of a distinguished lady and in Samantha's world, distinguished meant very, very rich. She was a Pentaghast after all. She and her sister, Corbinian's mother, were the daughters of a wealthy Nevarran nobleman whose name dated back centuries. He had been smart enough to marry them both off into extreme wealth. One sister to the Pentaghast Clan of Nevarra, a family renowned for their dragonhunting and with a standing army that the magisters of Tevinter paid notice; and one sister to the Vael family, the royal and ruling family of Starkhaven, the largest city in the Free Marches. The two sisters also bound the Pentaghasts and the Vaels together, an alliance that made many Marchers nervous.

Though dressed in the finest silks of the land, with a string of pearls around her neck that would have made the Empress of Orlais jealous, Lady Pentaghast had clearly never let go of the behavior of her youth. With a smile as big as her personality, there was something in her eyes that twinkled of deviancy. Her blonde hair was well stocked with ribbons and jewelry, and every time she turned, it made a soft tinkling noise as the chains brushed up against the clasps. She wore the strangest-looking brooch that Samanth had ever seen, and if she didn't know better, she would have sworn it looked like a beetle.

Lady Pentaghast was neither skinny nor plump, rather somewhere in-between with curves that swayed from side to side with every step. Instantly likeable and never one to let a moment of silence pass her by, she had been talking non-stop throughout the last three of the dinner's five courses. This woman was clearly used to being the center of attention.

Samantha did her best to stifle her giggles, like a lady should, "Lady Pentaghast, you flatter me."

"On the contrary, my dear." Her voice was soft and rich like velvet. "It is Corbinian who flatters so well. What did you say about her, darling? Hmm? Something about seeing her smile in the flowers? Yes? And her stars in the eyes – er, eyes in the stars! Yes, that was it! And then—" She paused dramatically, lifting her eyebrows and tapping her chin "—then he called it _torturous_!"

Samantha's mother was giggling like a monkey, but her father looked somewhat perplexed as this was not the Pentaghast he had expected. Goran looked a little annoyed while he continued to eat as he was once again going mostly ignored by his own parents who sat with tired expressions, mournfully lifting their forks to their mouths and back down again as though the entire evening was beyond saving.

Corbinian looked closed to mortified. "I don't recall using those exact—"

"Nonsense! Don't listen to him dear, for men tend to deny all those things stated in the heat of passion. Don't you let him get away with it!" She then turned to Samantha's mother. "Next year, you simply _must_ have her come to Nevarra City with the Vaels. I will honor her myself."

Lady Mayweather smiled. "What a splendid idea."

"I will show her Corbinian's statue. She will love that." Lady Pentaghast winked at Samantha. "Maybe the portrait of him as a boy? Not as good as Goran's, but it will give her an idea of what her future children will look like. Oh, hoo, hoo!"

Now it was Samantha's turn to blush, but Corbinian just said: "Ahh, yes, the statue." He looked like he wanted to crawl under the table and die.

"But there's plenty of time for that. You're both still young! I was older than you when I met my husband – may the Maker watch over his soul – and I remember how he used to read poetry to me as well. That must be where Corbinian gets it."

"But I'm not related—"

"He had the most wonderful ability to turn a phrase, and I recall several nights where he would send me poems that made my head just about spin off my body!" She sighed dramatically. "Such a romantic, he was! Just like our Corbinian here. Too bad Goran hasn't picked this up – he must be a Vael through and through!"

Goran scrunched his brows together. "What else would I—?"

"This is why that girl you pine for pays you no interest, Goran. You must _woo_ her! Are you listening? _Woo_!" She took a long drink from her brandy. "I'm going to send you some of my husband's poetry – Andraste watch over him – and perhaps you can pick up a thing or two about women."

"Oh, Maker—" Goran was turning green.

"I know the Vaels have a love of Chantry books – may the Maker bless each of you – but there are better texts out there on the words of love."

"Perhaps you could help Goran find one, then." Corbinian smiled wide and his brother shot him a fierce glare.

"A fine idea! The Vaels are such a solemn lot – no offense my dear sister, to you or Duke Vael – but it's true that you simply don't have a romantic bone in your body."

The dessert course came in and Lady Pentaghast finished off her third glass of brandy only to watch with bright eyes at how it was refilled almost instantly.

"I saw that utterly enormous library, sister, which surely contains some books on the language of romance that our young Goran here can study?"

Corbinian's father just sighed.

"I seem to recall a rather thick volume of sonnets that my father gave to me – Maker preserve his memory – that you perhaps have in your collection? Of course, there are numerous texts out there, but this one in particular spoke to my heart when I was but a girl, and I am sure that Goran will be inspired by the classics! Indeed, he will."

"I don't like poetry," Goran mumbled.

"What?" Lady Pentaghast stared at him in shock. "You don't like poetry? What utter and complete nonsense! Everyone loves poetry! Darling sister, have you not been keeping up on Goran's studies? Surely, with Corbinian such an accomplished wordsmith? Of course he may be a bit dim, but surely you have time to devote to your other son!"

"Of course, sister—"

"I'm not dim!"

"There, there." She patted his hand while finishing off her fourth glass. "No offense intended, darling. Oh that dinner was just lovely, dear sister. Truly, you never fail to disappoint with the food!"

"So glad you enjoyed—"

"Nevarra City is no slouch when it comes to decadence, but this layer cake!" She dragged her fork from her mouth, savoring the last bite. "Mmmm."

Lord Vael opened his mouth, but reconsidered as he looked to his wife who gave him a small nod and a smile. Reluctantly he stood up, his expression somewhat pained. "Shall we retire to the study for a spot of… tea?"

"What a marvelous idea." Lady Pentaghast stood up and Corbinian and Goran jumped to their feet, for in Nevarra it was customary for the gentlemen to stand whenever a lady stood. "Come Goran, we have some reading to do!"

Though she had at least four glasses of brandy in her, Lady Pentaghst strode elegantly down the hallway as she led the sulking younger Vael, and Samantha noted how Goran moved much more gracefully than he did on the dance floor with Flora. The group traveled down a long hallway as wide as the granite path outside the castle, finally settling into the egregiously large Royal Library.

Books of all sizes and thicknesses stretched the walls into the receding darkness, because there weren't enough candles to properly light every inch of the room. Where there weren't books, family heirlooms sat on display under cubes of glass, and some of them dated back to the first prince. Baleon Vael's Rattle: a gift from the Lord Chancellor of Tantervale to the first heir to the throne of Starkhaven. The Chant of Light with handwritten notes in the margins by Quinn Vael, the first of the royal family to take vows to the Chantry. Finally, in all its gleaming glory, Ironfist's Sword: a silver monstrosity that was wielded by Starkhaven's last King before the Vael's took the title of prince. Surrendered to the Chantry but loaned to the Vael's library for safekeeping, its blade was sharp and clean as the day King Ironfist handed it over.

"She's not always like this," Corbinian whispered to Samantha as he directed her to the other side of the vast room. "She doesn't drink much back in Nevarra, but once you get her outside her house, she thinks she's on vacation or something."

"I like her."

"I thought you would."

Corbinian sat next to Samantha on a small green velvet sofa in a corner, but they still spoke softly as the others settled into their own quiet conversations.

"Your father said you aren't having a lavish party this year for your name day." Corbinian opened his book – it looked like a random grab from the shelf; he had no idea what it was.

"Just a few friends this year for dinner in the gardens," Samantha whispered back. "My mother thought it would be ill-mannered to have two lavish parties in two consecutive years."

Lady Pentaghast's voice drifted over from the other side of the room. She didn't seem to be paying attention to Goran as she prattled on. His expression was thunderous, and his cheeks wobbled with the growing insult.

"Your brother is going to explode," she remarked casually.

"He's not used to this much attention." Corbinian mindlessly turned a page. "She paid him no notice back in Nevarra, but apparently she caught enough to learn of his fancy for Flora."

"He doesn't hide it."

"Nor should he, but he doesn't show it that well, either. He's sort of a nitwit around girls."

Samantha feigned shock. "What? You must be joking!"

He gave a half-smile. "I guess he didn't inherit all that Pentaghast charm."

"Too true." She flipped open her book, catching that her father was watching. "Often, the bonds of marriage are stronger than blood."

Corbinian smirked. At that moment Lady Pentaghast gasped loudly and Goran slapped a hand to his forehead in apparent shame for letting something slip that he hadn't meant to let slip.

The pair couldn't help but look in their direction, but Samantha spied something else. "Ugh, are your ears burning?"

Corbinian followed her gaze to see both of their respective mothers watching them from behind their playing cards. The pair had been whispering ever since they sat down.

"Let them talk. Doubtless their imaginations aren't anything close to our real debauchery."

Samantha giggled, but reined it in when she saw her father look up from his conversation. He was standing at the bookcase with Corbinian's father, who held a match to a very large pipe that protruded from his mouth, and as the smoke wafted out, it created a foggy haze that made both men harder to see – but likely made it hard for them to see out, too.

Samantha leaned in a little. "You were going to tell me about Sebastian…"

"He and I got into a fight."

"He said as much in his letter."

"Well, another fight, I guess. It's an… old argument between us."

"I didn't realize you had any feud with him." She fiddled with the pages of her book, running her thumb over the edges.

"He seemed very different when I saw him in Kirkwall, but he…" Corbinian glanced at their parents. "He actually wanted me to join him in the Chantry. He called me a sinner and a…" He clenched his jaw. "Let's just say that I found his accusations hypocritical."

She wanted to hold his hand, but instead kept her fingers firmly on her book. The edges of the pages were dipped in a golden dye to make the closed book shine, but it also made the thin leaves soft to the touch. It made the book look prettier, but the story hadn't changed. She wondered if that was like Sebastian. "He seemed quite remorseful in his letter to me."

"I'm sure he did."

Lady's Pentaghast's voice softly cut through the room. "No, no, no, no! Read it again! With _feeling_ this time!"

The pair looked over to Goran and Lady Pentaghast, the former in what could only be described as apparent agony, and the latter finishing another glass of brandy, for she had waved the tea away. Corbinian and Samantha smiled a little at the interruption.

"Lord Kendall should have apprenticed your brother," Samantha whispered.

"He's a lost cause, I'm afraid." But her smile got wider when he said: "But_ I_ am not. I have a feeling that your father is going to talk with me tonight."

"How do you know?"

"Because our mothers are more interested in our father's conversation than us."

Samantha spied her mother and the Duchess, who were no longer playing cards, but instead sitting wide-eyed and focused on the men. Even from the other side of their smoky haze, Samantha could see plainly that they were deep in conversation.

"Well, it's about time."

"I had hoped to drag out the moment as long as possible, I admit it."

"You just like climbing through my window."

"Getting your father's permission won't change that."

She twisted her mouth, trying to keep her smile from growing so big that everyone would see it and, after a moment fighting to hide her mirth, she leaned back over. "Does your aunt really have a statue of your likeness at her estate?"

"Oh yeah," he groaned. "She keeps it in the room with all the other statues of all the other Vaels, which I have to say, is somewhat disturbing. We're all painfully white."

She giggled, but covered it up and kept her eyes on her book. "I missed you, Beenie."

"Well, I must have missed you, too, because I don't bribe guards for just anyone." She wrinkled her nose but he answered the question before she could ask. "I've arranged a visit to the Circle – don't smile too big now."

"How did you manage that?" She glanced at her parents.

"I'm a Vael." He said as though it should have been obvious, but then added: "Also, I paid off the guards."

Her eyes widened, because something about the ease with which they could get in was bothersome. "How wonderfully lax Circle security is. I wonder if we might bribe our way into the Grand Cleric's bedchambers next? I have an eye on that snazzy robe she always wears."

"I could just have a copy made for you. Maybe you could wear it and I could wear the First Enchanter's robe and then we could turn off all the lights—"

She gave him a good jab in his ribs with her elbow and he _oofed_ softly. "Okay, noted. Grand Cleric / First Enchanter roleplay a little too risqué…"

Samantha giggled a little too loudly at that, and when her father looked over, it took everything she had to stop laughing and refocus on her book.

When she had calmed down enough, he leaned over. "Don't worry, Sammie. You'll be safe, because I'll go with you."

"Oh, right. I forgot how important you are."

"Clearly." He smirked and she relaxed a little.

It was true that things had been calm for a while and there hadn't been a rebellion in fifty years. Even then, it had been just one mage. The Starkhaven Circle treated mages better than most, and the First Enchanter kept his charges under control – everyone said so.

"When can we go?"

"In a few weeks."

"Lord Corbinian," Samantha's father called from the other side of the room, and Corbinian's father was standing next to him. They looked quite serious.

"And away we go," he whispered with a grin as he rose and calmly walked across the room.

It had been over four months since Corbinian's initial request for permission to court her, and Samantha had a sneaking suspicion that was the reason for Lady Pentaghast asking to dine with her. Samantha's mother was turning a curious shade of pink, probably flushed with excitement at the prospect of their connected families. Lady Mayweather had only breathlessly mentioned Corbinian's name nearly every day. She thought she heard her father mutter something which sounded like the word _inoffensive_ before the dinner, but his tone clearly suggested some prejudice, still. Still! It had been more than a year since Corbinian had returned from Nevarra.

Sitting on this small sofa, watching all the people in the room, Samantha couldn't help feeling like her life was being planned for her. Her mother was ready to consent to anyone with a title, her father was more concerned about her reputation than her actual happiness, and the Vaels, as pretentious as they were, were clearly concerned about her family's character. They had been carefully evaluating them at every turn; Samantha could see that even if her mother could not.

She turned to spy Goran suffering Lady Pentaghast's attentions as she finally selected a book for him and he traveled the length of the room to sit down next to Samantha on the sofa, holding his book distastefully, turning each page as though they were made of iron.

"Goran," she whispered a greeting and he didn't respond; he had terrible manners – everyone said so.

After a long pause, he looked up. "What?" He had the same Vael-blue eyes as his brother.

"Nothing," she answered defensively. "Just saying hello."

"Oh. Hello."

_Andraste's breeches!_ Samantha silently wondered if this was how every conversation with Goran went. His puffy cheeks were a little flushed still, but his shoulders seemed to relax sitting next to her – or maybe it was just being away from Lady Pentaghast.

"What are you reading?" she whispered, figuring that she should try to get to know him. At least a little.

"Poetry," he said sourly. "What does this even mean? _She stalks the night. Filtered through the clouds and rounding out the outlines of my hands as I work in shadow._"

Really? Could he be that dense? "It's the moon."

"What?" His favorite word.

"The _moon_, silly. The night. Filtered through the clouds. Round and shadows? The moon."

He looked back down to the book. "I'd be better off painting her a picture of the moon."

"Only if her face is in the moon," Samantha said quickly.

"What?"

"Flora likes… portraits…" Samantha bit her lip; should she not tell Goran any of Flora's likes or dislikes? Would Flora be upset with her if she did?

Certainly Flora had suggested on numerous occasions how much she disliked Goran's attention, but if Helena and Vincent were to be believed, perhaps she just didn't know him. Samantha supposed it mattered little; if Flora was going to spurn him, nothing he did would make any difference.

"Portraits?"

She couldn't leave Goran's questions hanging in the air like Lord Kendall's always were.

"That's why I said that… about the face… in the moon. So the moon would be like a portrait. I didn't mean literally, of course. It was just a joke!" _Maker!_ Why was it so difficult to talk to Goran and so easy to talk to Corbinian?

Corbinian returned then, wearing a serious visage as he sat down on the other side of Samantha, turning a dark look to the other side of the room.

"What did he say?" Samantha asked him, looking in the same direction, and she noticed that Goran was interested in the answer as well.

"Not here…" he responded, but he gave her a lingering look before he lifted his book back up to his eyes.

"Oh, Goran!" Lady Pentaghast called over. "Have you finished that one yet?"

"Andraste's ass…" Goran muttered, standing up and sulking back over to his aunt.

Samantha's father moved towards her mother and they both stood up – it was getting dark out and she recognized their farewells.

"Go to your window at dusk," Corbinian whispered into her ear as her father called her over. With a slight nod, she rose from the velvet sofa and curtsied her goodbye. Corbinian kissed her hand, Goran bowed elegantly, Lady Pentghast embraced her like a daughter, and the Duke and Duchess of Starkhaven bowed deeply in formality to say goodnight.

Her family walked home in silence, the whoosh of the night winds ushering the Mayweathers along their way.

Once back inside the confines of her estate, her mother and father parted, going in separate directions as was their wont; her mother to the kitchen to tell the staff what she expected for breakfast, and her father to the study, likely to have a drink in private. He did that often.

Samantha ascended the stairs in darkness. The candelabras had burned low and the servants hadn't renewed them. Her room was drafty but an elf came in and hastily lit a fire in her hearth which helped considerably. She sat by her window, a shawl over her shoulders as she waited, but Corbinian didn't come. Finally, she assumed he just couldn't get away and went down the hall to the washroom, and that's when she heard a faint tapping.

_Tap_. A pause. _Tap_. It sounded almost like raindrops, but the sky had been clear enough to see all of the Maker's stars that night.

_Tap_. Another pause. _Tap_. It was coming from Innley's room. Quietly, looking over her shoulder to check for her parents, she tiptoed down the hallway to Innley's old room, the one with the window, which was where the tapping was coming from – it was Corbinian. He was tossing up pebbles to hit the thick glass. Making sure the door to the room was bolted, Samantha pushed hard against the window's old iron latch, which hadn't been opened in two years. When it finally creaked to life, she was able to push the window out, its hinges grating loudly enough to make Corbinian take a step backwards, the length of his jacket dusting the earth behind him.

She poked her head through and called his name. With a cursory glance back towards the door and any other windows, he snuck closer, and she shook her head.

"Wrong window," she called down, but he lifted a hand to his ear; he couldn't hear her. "Come around to my window." She gestured for him to move to the window around the corner – at least, she hoped he understood what her feverish pointing meant. If her parents stepped into the hallway and found Innley's door closed, they would notice. They noticed everything.

He said something back, but Samantha couldn't hear him through the wind before he snuck off into her backyard, which was easy enough to do if you knew the estate. Just under the hedges was a gap in the fencing and one could easily slip through without even ruffling clothing. Flora and Ruxton had rigged it years ago when Samantha and Innley had been the only children left in Granite Circle who were not allowed outside after tea. That had taken a year longer than everyone else, and Samantha always assumed her mother had pressured her father into letting them have more freedom, mostly for appearances' sake. Sometimes, she wondered if her father had a mind to keep her locked up for as long as possible – like the Circle locked up Innley – and all in the name of protection.

She quickly ran to her bedroom, slipping inside just as her mother appeared in the hallway.

"Darling Samantha." Her mother grasped at her hands, and she looked a little upset. "Your father will speak to you tomorrow."

"Is everything all right, mother?"

"We'll talk tomorrow," she said before she hugged her daughter – a hug! Something her mother never did. She then turned down the hallway, likely heading for bed.

Samantha closed the door to her room, latching it shut and then, holding her dress closed at her knees so it wouldn't get caught by the wind, set her knee on the sill and pushed her large bedroom window open.

Corbinian stood below her window, his hands in his pockets, his shoulders sunken.

"Beenie?" She called down and he lifted his chin. "Come up here." She tapped the tresses that held up the vines.

His gaze darted over the tresses for a moment and, though there was a chill in the air, he threw his coat off without a thought, letting it fall to the grass before he began to climb. He moved as though he was an old hand at this; his arms and legs were strong from practicing with the sword and they carried him up like it was nothing. When he reached the top, he swung a leg over the sill, careful not to make too much noise, and sat down. She sat across from him, their knees touching, their bodies framing the window.

"I told you I'd come to your estate, didn't I?" He was trying to make a joke, but he couldn't hide the look in his eyes. Surveying her room from the window, his expression was somewhere between distracted and disappointed. "Right through the window…"

"What did he say?" Samantha asked about his conversation with her father and his.

"I don't think the fact that I'm royalty has in any way shaped your father's opinion of me," Corbinian told her sadly. "Usually, I can get away with a fair amount simply because of my family, but your father has made a demand of me before he will grant me… before he will allow us to be tied to each other."

His choice of words was intriguing, and Samantha didn't know what to ask first but settled on: "What does he want?"

"He says that I must prove to him that I am a gentleman with honorable intentions and a good reputation. The latter seems to be of greatest concern."

The fact that he had climbed the side of her house to sneak into her room through a window made Samantha almost laugh at all three requirements but for the disappointment in his eyes. "The night I hurt my ankle, you mean. The night Sebastian was sent away."

"The night I was found by the city guard passed out on Lord Garrity's steps." He couldn't help but chuckle at that. "I suppose that wasn't my finest hour."

"I blame Lord Kendall."

He smiled so wide, she thought his face might crack open.

"What did your father say?"

Corbinian's smile faded to a knowing grin. "He said he has never known a Vael with a greater ability to win people over."

She reached for his hand. "You will, you know. Prove yourself to my father—I mean, if that's what you want to do."

"My Sammie." He turned her hands over in his. "I would remove the Black City from the Fade if that's what your father demanded."

She had no answer to that, for it was by far the most romantic thing he had probably ever said… the most romantic thing anyone ever said to her, or anyone else she had ever known, and between her and Flora, they had heard nearly everything that every boy in Starkhaven had ever said to every girl.

"This is very storybook of us," he said quietly, looking down at the grass far below. "What will the bards say when they tell our story?"

"I hear they sing, Beenie."

"Well, whatever," he said as he reached for her, dragging them both across the threshold of her window and firmly pressing his lips to hers, his hands pressing her body to his. His left hand, his sword hand, was more callused than his right as she felt it scratch against her jaw. The breeze of the evening swept through her window, ruffling her lace dress and his silk shirt, and she both delighted and lamented the windowsill, imagining the many breezy nights to come where he would sneak through her window because her father refused him on this night.

When they parted, he ran a hand over the top of her hair. "I've always wondered what it would be like to do something this poetic. Though, I wonder what Lord Kendall would say."

She lifted her lips in invitation to keep going. "He'd likely challenge you to a duel for my heart."

"However many it takes." And he accepted.


	8. 9:26 Dragon, Spring

**9:26 Dragon, Spring**

When Samantha had asked Corbinian how they were going to visit the Circle Tower without being seen, he had only given her a wink and a smile. Paying off a guard to withhold their names from the guest registry was easy enough, but getting into the Tower, passing through the layers of Templars and servants – all of whom would undoubtedly recognize the Marquess of Starkhaven – would be another matter. Before she could even concern herself with that, the pair had to first escape her parents' watchful gaze.

The plan was to sneak away after service while the rest of the nobles were on their walk. It was something Samantha was greatly anticipating just as soon as the Grand Cleric finished speaking. She had quoted three different Divines and the referenced the Chant of Trials twice. The woman could talk for hours, it seemed.

"One evening, a farmer was walking through his fields," Francesca began. "The rains had been heavy that summer and the grass was tall, so tall that the man didn't see that part of the field had caved in. He stepped right through the blades into the darkness, plummeting down and injuring his leg. He cried out, but there was no response. Though the earth was heavy and wet, he tried to climb out, but he could not. Hours passed until the moon was high overhead and he knew he would have to wait for his family to find him."

This was a parable of some kind, but it was one that Samantha hadn't heard.

"When the moon moved out of sight and all that remained was darkness, he felt a hand grasp onto his shoulder. At first, the farmer was afraid, but soon calmed because it turned out this new companion was trapped just as the farmer was. Calling himself a traveler, the man claimed that he had taken a shortcut through the farmer's field, and fell through a hole in the earth. Knocked unconscious, he had only just woken up from his fall to discover that he was not alone."

Corbinian whispered beside her. "How fortunate."

"For whom?" Samantha asked him.

"The hole, of course."

Samantha bit her cheek to keep from giggling.

"They worked together to get out, and though the farmer's leg was injured, he found it easier to move with the help of the traveler. Once out of the hole, the farmer turned to thank the traveler – perhaps offer him a meal and a bed for the night – but turned to see the glowing green eyes of a demon. _I freed you_, the demon told him. _I came to you when you needed help. You can trust me._ But the farmer ran away." Francesca paused thoughtfully before she asked, "Why did he run?"

The congregation sat silent, waiting for the answer.

"The demon didn't harm him, asked for nothing in return, and still the farmer ran."

Samantha felt she had outgrown these kinds of stories, no matter how well the Grand Cleric told them, but one glance around her suggested that the rest of the nobles of Starkhaven were still in their youth.

"The farmer ran because demons are not people." Francesca let that point hang in the air for a moment before she continued. "They do not have feelings, nor do they have the capacity to think beyond themselves. Demons lie. They will use whatever they can to get a foothold in a mortal being. They will befriend, they will make promises, and they will make you think that you are in control – but it's all a manipulation. Once you counsel with demons, you have turned from the Maker. Your soul is forever stained. Your life is no longer yours; it is theirs. This is the reason why we have the Rite of Tranquility. Because there is no cure for possession."

"Except death," Samantha whispered and Corbinian quirked a grin.

"We never know when demons will come to us. Often, it will be at our most vulnerable, when darkness has fallen all around us. But we, each of us, have the power inside ourselves to say no to a demon's offer. To reject them. The farmer showed us great courage, for he did not turn from the Maker, and was so blessed. The Maker blessed each of you with this courage. Use it well."

The choir stood up and their voices started low, rising softly into the dusty Chantry air tinted by the stained-glass.

"The farmer must have forgotten that he hurt his leg," Samantha spoke just above the chorus.

"Conveniently." Corbinian agreed as they rose to join the singing.

A loud clap echoed through the singing and all heads turned down the pew to the poor lad who had clumsily dropped his copy of the Chant of Light: it was Goran Vael, of course. He fumbled twice picking it up, and there was a sheen of perspiration just above his brow.

Samantha leaned into Corbinian's arm. "What's with him?"

"The answer to that question is standing across the row."

Samantha followed Corbinian's suggestion, and sure enough, standing across the row with her parents and her brothers, Ruxton and the newly married Brett and his wife, was the tall and slender Flora Harimann, shaking her head disapprovingly at Goran's folly. When she spotted Samantha spying her, Flora rolled her eyes at the youngest Vael – well, second youngest, as the future prince of Starkhaven's wife, the future princess of Starkhaven, had given birth to a baby boy only a few weeks earlier.

At the conclusion of service, Flora sauntered over to Samantha and Corbinian with a smile. "When will Francesca _ever_ stop talking about demons?"

"Don't be silly, Flora," Samantha joked, taking Corbinian's arm. "What else is she going to talk about?"

"A fair point. I suppose they'd replace her if she ever stopped."

"Right. And then we'd have to listen to all the same warnings and parables all over again from the new Grand Cleric."

"Ugh." Flora's gaze drifted to Corbinian who had stayed curiously silent during the exchange. "What are you smiling about?"

Corbinian had been giving her his best charming smile. "You look lovely, Flora. Doesn't she, Goran?"

He turned his head, stepping back to reveal his younger brother who had joined them stealthily. But for all his efforts at grace, Goran was a right mess; he blinked feverishly, trying to speak, but only producing mumbles. "Erm, hi."

"Hello, Goran!" Samantha greeted him cheerfully.

Flora sighed, a bit too loudly for prudence.

Corbinian's smile was still wide. "Surely you remember my brother, Flora?"

Flora gave an unenthusiastic curtsey. "My lord."

"My Lady." He tried to bow, but he was too stiff. "Are you w-well?"

"Fine," she intoned. "Oh, I see my brother needs me. Excuse me."

Goran visibly deflated as she hurried away, his gaze lingering on the space she had occupied. It was painful to watch. His words had muffled together with every twitch of his hands and blink of his eyes, and Samantha could see his puffy cheeks turning rosy.

"Buck up, Goran," Corbinian clapped him on the shoulder. "At least you got out a coherent sentence that time!"

"Maker, what is wrong with me?"

"It's called stupidity. If you were smart, you'd forget about that one."

The younger brother blew through his lips. "Yeah, yeah…"

Corbinian gave him a warm smile as he led Samantha down the aisle to the wide double-doors of the Chantry. They were held open by initiates who were offering the Maker's benediction for anyone who wished to receive it.

Granite Circle greeted them with bright green crispness. The dogwood trees were blooming white and pink, some lazily releasing their soft petals onto the cool stone path. The air smelled of sweets as the sun burned off what was left of the morning dew, and Samantha brought her shawl up around her shoulders to keep the slight chill away. They walked for a few minutes in the spring sunshine, smiling and nodding to those they knew. Lady Fortney stopped to compliment Samantha on her necklace; a gift for her twelfth name day, it was a thick silver chain with four inlaid emeralds. Innley had always loved it – green rocks that sparkled in the light. She had worn it on this day for him.

"Cover for me?" Corbinian asked his brother.

Goran sighed. "Don't I always?"

Corbinian gave him a genuine smile, and when Goran smiled back — the first time Samantha had ever seen him smile — she lost her breath for a moment. His entire face changed when he smiled. Underneath those puffy cheeks and grim visage was a youthful and beautiful boy, and Samantha wondered what this pudgy boy would look like as a man. Before her thoughts got away from her, he bade them farewell, ambushed by Vincent Tyler and Helena Luxley as he wandered away.

"Around the next corner," Corbinian said casually, gesturing ahead to the pair of high hedges that served as entrance to Vayan's Park, so named for Starkhaven's most green-thumbed prince, who had doubled the size of the royal gardens.

Samantha was nearly giddy at the anticipation of seeing her brother, but tried to act as naturally as she could. They paused at the entrance to the park, and then slipped through the tall shapely shrubs. Corbinian picked up the pace, and they cut through Lord Garrity's front garden to reach Starkhaven Park. The same park which held memories of Sebastian and a certain drunken encounter. Once they reached the statue of Corin the Grey Warden, they cut through the high hedges onto the adjacent street, traveled past the High Merchant's Guild, cut through Champion's Circle, around the corner from the Templar's building, and finally to main gates of the Starkhaven Circle.

Samantha had only passed by the Circle on the heels of her parents before, and never been inside. She was intimidated by the marvelous wrought iron gates designed in the style of the previous age, even though everyone thought them terribly outdated, and stared at the Circle's delicately carved hedge garden, filled with topiaries sculpted like animals. Finally, they moved past the circular outer wall of the tower to the West Entrance, where the vine canopy was as long as the tower was tall.

The entrance was supposed to be guarded by one Templar. But there were two.

Templars of any stature were well known to the noble men and women of Starkhaven, but Samantha knew only what Corbinian knew about these two, which was that he had struck a deal with Ser Langley, the black-haired recruit who was leaning on the hilt of a massive sword, its blade as black as pitch.

Ser Langley had grown up in Markham, a smaller fishing town to the east, thus possessing a dark complexion, dark eyes, and dark hair. His mother had passed away from a sickness when he was a boy and since his father was a sailor, he couldn't care for him and had sent the boy to the Chantry. He'd joined the Order in Kirkwall, and spent a few years as a recruit there before requesting a transfer to Starkhaven. _Too many maleficarum_, he had said.

The other Templar, who had hair and eyes of the same tawny color, was one neither knew.

"Well, well. All dressed up for the mages, are we?" Langley's biting tone suggested that he didn't like his charges.

"They need role models." Corbinian greeted the Templar with a bow.

"Oh, they're quite fashionable. What with the lightning shooting out of their eyes."

"Then perhaps they have caught onto the current trends," Corbinain responded and they all shared a chuckle.

Samantha caught a bronze plaque affixed to the white stone Tower wall behind Langley. It read: _Time inevitably brings an end to all things in the material world, and yet in this ending is the seed of a beginning._

"Ser Traven." Langley gestured to the other Templar. "I present the Marquess of Starkhaven."

Ser Traven's yellow-blond hair and crystal clear eyes were plainly Ander, and upon his back he wore an enormous dual-edged and rounded battleaxe with Starkhaven's symbol etched in the center bolt. Samantha didn't know much about the hierarchy of the Templar Order, but his armor and the color of his underpadding suggested that he was at least of higher rank than a recruit.

The superior-ranking Templar bowed as he eyed Corbinian and Samantha sternly. "I understand why you have come. Though Ser Langley was going to escort you inside, he doesn't have access to that part of the Tower. So, he brought this matter to me. I have already gone on record that I don't approve of this." Those blond eyes drifted to Samantha. "And because of the sensitive nature of your title, m'lady, your visit will go undocumented."

"What part of the Tower?" Samantha asked.

"The isolation chambers."

"I don't understand," Corbinian said. "He wasn't in any _isolation chamber_ a week ago. Has something happened?"

"You could say that," Langley remarked.

Traven shot Langley a disapproving look. "There was an incident."

Samantha's mouth dropped open to ask, but Corbinian spoke first. "There must be some mistake. We're here to see Innley Mayweather."

"Yes, that's the boy," Traven assured them. "But there is no cause to worry. I will go with you, and you will be safe—"

"Safe?" Samantha blurted out. "What has happened to my brother?"

Traven set his jaw, drawing a measured breath. "My lady, forgive me. Your brother is protected. But your safety while in this Tower is my responsibility."

She remembered her manners and apologized. "I'm sorry. I know…"

Corbinian covered her hand with his. It was a reassuring gesture he often gave her. He turned back to Traven. "Is Innley all right?"

"We have him isolated. Normally, he would not be allowed visits but… Well, you are the Marquess…"

Samantha knew that the Chantry and the Vaels had close ties, but she had no idea that the royal family had this kind of access. Still, she felt there was something Ser Traven wasn't telling them.

"Let's go, then." Corbinian seemed eager enough, which made her nervous.

Langley smirked as he watched them go. "Don't feed the mages down there."

Traven shot a glare at him. "Bite your tongue, recruit. If you make a deal like this again, I'll have you stripped of your commission."

Ser Langley looked to his boots. "Yes, ser."

Stepping into the Tower was like walking into the night, and it took Samantha's eyes a few moments to adjust. There weren't many windows, if any, and only dim light came from those sconces and torches that lined the stone masonry walls. Pockets of shadow were everywhere.

When they passed through the library—filled with thick sky-blue rugs trimmed in greens and golds, table lamps of every color glass, and quills and parchments scratching noisily underneath the judgmental stares of the portraits—Samantha craned her neck upwards to see all the books. _Andraste's breath! _There must have been thousands! The curved tower walls were lined in marble, and stretched up at least four stories with balconies that circled the sides. The longest ladders she had ever seen stretched into the darkness above, disappearing before the light of crystal chandeliers that hung from the painted ceiling – a painted ceiling! Not even Samantha's lavish estate had something so extravagant.

There was one thing missing, though: joy.

Langley certainly was right about the attention, but in every single one of the hundred pairs of eyes staring back, there was only forlorn resignation. Young, old, men, women, mages, Templars, initiates, all paused, sometimes in mid-step to stare at them as they passed. The women looked ashen and the men looked near death, their skins as pale as Fereldans and their hair limp as though doused from a bucket of oil. Mages with long hair and long beards stood around in heavy robes made of fine wool and silk, but their bodies worked laboriously to move, as if every twitch of their fingers took effort. The faces were barren, devoid of dreams, staring straight into her like they could see her better than she could see herself.

Samantha couldn't understand them. This was the Circle Tower, but the things that seemed out of place here were the mages.

Once through the library, they kept going, the curved stone wall always to her left and it felt like they were descending – was this place really designed in a cylinder or a spiral or something? – until they reached a level with few torches and a single small oil-lamp that sat solitarily on a desk that stood guard to a door.

"Is this it?" Corbinian asked.

"Almost." Ser Traven answered as he opened the door. "It's down here."

Yet another staircase that stretched down into darkness.

Samantha's anxiety increased. She had heard the Tranquil grew beasts down in the lower levels for the mages to study, sometimes spiders or giant rats, and had a sudden fear that they would run into the monsters. The words _isolation chambers_ rang in her head like the chantry bells, as though a reckoning was coming. With every step she took into the darkness holding onto Corbinian's hot arm, the knowledge she thought she had about the Circle turned to dust in the cobwebs.

Ser Traven opened another dark plain door to reveal a long hallway lined with more dark plain doors, a thick iron lock on each. They moved soundlessly down the hallway after him, their footsteps no longer echoing on the stones; the thick walls seemed to absorb all sound. Perhaps even sounds as loud as screaming. Nothing could be heard from the other side of the doors. It was like a tomb; a place where dead people lived.

Corbinian held her up with determination. "Maybe this was a bad idea…"

"No," Samantha said weakly. "I want to see Innley."

"Here." Ser Traven stopped in front of an unmarked door and unlocked it. "I'll be right here. Take as long as you want, but… not too long, okay?"

Samantha stared at the tiny sliver of the open door. With Corbinian's hand clasped firmly, she nodded, and the Marquess of Starkhaven opened the door.

If not for the surprise, she could have burst into tears right then, for her baby brother who was just a year younger looked older than her by a decade. His cheeks were sunken, his eyes were hollow, his lips were pale, and his hair was black and oily from dirt. The right side of his face, particularly his cheeks, nose, and forehead, were deep red, scraped and scabbed over with long gashes that covered his once-youthful and beautiful skin, right down to a stubbly beard. He was slumped in a corner because this cell had nothing else to sit upon. Just above Innley's head were shackles bolted to the wall, but the chains were missing.

Corbinian was rigid by her side, and though she couldn't tear her eyes away from the hollow shell of a boy in front of her, she could almost feel Corbinian's growing rage, a mirror to her despair.

"Innley?" She took a step closer but if her brother heard her, he made no movement. "Innley?"

Corbinian turned around to Ser Traven. "What is the meaning of this? This is barbaric!"

The Templar held up his hands. "Her brother is not harmed by Templars, I assure you. I can also assure you that he is kept here for his own safety."

"_Safety_?"

As Corbinian continued to interrogate Traven, Samantha lifted the hem of her dress and crouched down, unaware that every speck of dust was going to show regardless of what she did. Innley had a tuft of hair in his eyes and she wanted to brush it away but when her hand got within an inch, his hand darted up and gripped her wrist tight; she let out a small squeak at the surprise of it. Innley's hollow eyes, the same color as her own, shot up to her and for a moment there was blatant hostility.

She barely had time to be afraid, gasping: "Innley! It's me! Samantha!"

Her name did something, because he blinked once, twice, and then with a flutter he loosened his grip on her wrist, tears streaming down his face. It was horrible, the wretched sobs that wracked his already frail body, and he scrambled towards her, his bony limbs wrapping tight around her waist.

"What did they do to you?" She was crying, and felt Corbinian's hand on her shoulder; he had returned to her side, crouching down next to her.

Innley's voice was hoarse and deathly quiet. "This is what they do. This is how it's done."

"I don't understand!"

"How what is done?" Corbinian sounded young at that moment, no more than his true age of seventeen.

Innley pulled back, and he caught Samantha's necklace, the emeralds twinkling in the low light. He stared at them for a moment, his reaction delayed before he brought his hands to his head, crushing his eyes closed and twitching violently for a moment before continuing. "_Don't you_ _see_?"

"See what?" Samantha held her breath, but he didn't answer, instead balling his hands into fists and jerking them into his forehead hard. She reached for his hands again and that's when he stopped, his shoulders bobbed up and down in silent agony.

"There is no hope here," he whispered into the stone walls.

"Is this a… a demon?" Samantha stared at her brother.

Traven stood in the doorway, his voice filled with sorrow. "He doesn't know where he is. He doesn't know what's happening."

"There is nothing. There is nothing. There is nothing," Innley whispered over and over.

Tears continued to slide down Samantha's cheeks. "What does that mean?"

"You need to ask the Knight Commander these questions," Traven replied.

Corbinian stood up. "We're asking _you_. This is wrong. He doesn't belong here."

Innley turned away from Samantha, burying his face in the wall again, the dry cracked stone scraping his cheeks raw, opening up the wounds on his face, and still whispering, "There is nothing."

"I have no answers," Traven said plaintively. "The Knight Commander has plans for him – that much I know. But that's _all_ I know. He will be interested to know that he hugged his sister."

"You can't tell him we were here!" Corbinian seemed to lose his cool briefly. "Forgive me. I just mean that wasn't part of the agreement. I didn't want anyone to know."

"I'm sorry, my lord." Traven appeared to mean it. "When Langley came to me, I had no choice but to tell the Knight Commander… but he approved your visit."

Samantha turned a set of wide eyes to the Templar, and Innley's whimpers against the wall grew weaker.

Corbinian froze. "He did what?"

"The Knight Commander wondered… what Innley's reaction would be… Look, I'm sorry. I'm only doing what I was told." Ser Traven ran his palms over his eyes, and he sincerely looked angry, like he wanted to punch the wall. "This… I'm sorry. My Lady, you shouldn't have seen this… I'm going to tell the Knight Commander that this was a mistake."

Samantha turned back to her brother. He had quieted down, his body slumped back against the wall, his eyes glazed over, staring into nothing as the tears stopped falling. It was like he had fallen asleep with his eyes wide open.

Traven stepped aside, holding the door open wide. "It's time to go. He won't remember your visit. I'm sorry."

The Templar kept apologizing, and that made it worse. He was supposed to safeguard the mages, and yet he was powerless.

Like some kind of dream where she would walk but feel like she was flying, Corbinian held her afloat as they drifted back up through the spiraling tower, passed all those wall sconces, through the gleaming marble library, and back into the bright white world.

"Was it everything you hoped?" Langley sneered from the doorway, still leaning on his black sword.

"Shut up, Langley," Traven snapped before he walked them through the perfectly sculpted shrubs to the wrought iron gates.

Samantha mind was awash with darkness, as though she were still inside that Tower, but it was Innley who was in distress. Everyone said the mages were treated well, but Innley was not being treated well. Remembering his stubbly beard, likely his first, made Samantha start to cry terribly, thinking of all the ways he was just a boy going through the changes of becoming a man, but alone in a prison cell and clearly abused. She thought of all the other doors with locks on them, and wondered how many other mages were behind how many other doors?

"What should I do?" Corbinian held Samantha close as he asked the Templar, "How do I get him out of there?"

Traven shook his head apologetically. "You don't."


	9. 9:26 Dragon, Autumn

_AN: Thank you to **JadeSelket** for the wonderful review. As it is my first, I am blown away by such lofty praise._

_A special shout-out to **analect** for being the best beta on the planet - your suggestions and feedback are invaluable. Thank you so much.  
_

_Finally, the title of this story has changed. Formerly "Sometimes Quite Often" now "The Center of Heaven" taken from a verse in the Chant of Light. The reason for the change will come much later in the story (and I am estimating about 37-40 chapters total).  
_

**9:26 Dragon, Autumn**

The Starkhaven Circle Tower wasn't black like so many other Circle Towers around Thedas; it was white and gold. Built of white stone and decorated with marble and copper, its pristine walls stretched higher than any building in Starkhaven. From its peak, a great white spire shot upwards with pride. Sometimes at night, Samantha could see beams of light shine out from that spire.

A plaque, old letters etched in bronze, was affixed to each of the four gates, but Samantha had only seen the one behind Ser Langley's head – a note about how an ending was also a beginning. Just like a Circle, she thought.

From her perch in Innley's window, the Circle Tower looked as majestic as the Chantry, but without any windows it more closely resembled a giant white tomb. Like those Corbinian had described in Nevarra, it was beautiful, immaculate, and decorated lavishly without thought to expense. Except this one housed living people. Even if they had seemed as hollow as corpses.

Innley's room had been stripped of all of his things and replaced with new things. Pretty things. His bed was now a rose-colored sofa, his favorite paintings were now woven tapestries and stone carvings, the trunk which had held his clothes from when he was an infant was now a harp, and his stick collection had become a casualty of redecoration. Innley had been obsessed with sticks when he was a small boy, and it had driven their mother mad. Every day he would walk through the door, covered in dirt and holding a new stick for his mother to take away. Yet even so, he managed to collect more than a dozen of every twisted shape. Her parents had steamed at the collection's reveal, staring at the stashed-away secrets with revelation, as though the hidden sticks had been the truth about Innley.

It didn't really matter if she sat in his room or not, because her brother's shadow hung over everything. Over the missing chair at the dining room table, over the downstairs study where he would practice his letters, and over the picture of flowers on the hallway wall where his portrait had once been. Like the horrible stain that he had left on the family could simply be blotted out with pretty drawings.

The swelling anger over the unfairness in all things birthed feelings of sedition, plots of vengeance and escape – but to where? And to what? What did she know about life outside the walls of her home? Eventually, the truth about Samantha became her inaction, for what could a noble's daughter of no importance, title, or wealth do against the might of the Circle? Such thoughts did not leave easily, and Innley's circumstance dominated her body with an abundance of emotion.

Her maid appeared in the doorway, and she had the decency to look apologetic. Ruxton Harimann's name day party was that evening and Samantha wasn't dressed; not surprisingly, she wasn't in the celebrating mood. Even though it had been almost half a year since she had seen Innley, she knew he was still in that cell. _Isolation chamber_, she thought snidely. She knew what it really was.

She dragged herself from Innley's window, and padded down the hallway to her room, glowering at the painting of flowers that used to be her brother.

Ruxton's favorite color was blue, and he had invited everyone to wear it on this day. Themes and colors were not unusual for parties, but it was unusual for Ruxton to have a party. If it were up to him, as he told Samantha, he would never have chosen such an elaborate celebration, but the Lord and Lady Harimann had chosen his sixteenth name day to grant their son one of their smaller estates in Cumberland, a coastal city to the southwest, near Orlais. As such, he would be given the title of minor Lord, which was good enough to reason to celebrate as any.

Her maid had laid out her dress for the evening, a light blue gown made of silk and lace with a trail of dark blue ribbons that cascaded down the length of the skirt. More ribbons for her hair and the sleeves, with silver and blue jewelry to match. Her lack of enthusiasm had to be noticeable, but the maid went about her routine with the patience that only a servant could endure.

When her mother came in to see to her final touches, she didn't say a thing about her daughter's disposition. Sometimes, Samantha thought that she was hiding it really well, until she would glimpse her reflection in a mirror or a window and see a sad girl moping. Why did her parents never say anything? Did they not see it? Did they not care? She caught herself staring at them sometimes, after dinner or during service. They spoke casually, their eyes focused on the space in front of them but on nothing in particular. Did they see the world? Did they see themselves?

"Darling, you look lovely! Corbinian will adore this color," her mother gushed. Sometimes, she sounded as though she were acting a part. Like being excited about her daughter's beau was something she was supposed to be excited about, and so she was. Like that was the truth about her.

"Thank you, Mother," she replied flatly.

"Let me fix your ribbons." She spoke to her daughter without looking at her. "Now, I know you like him, but make sure he knows that, too. A man needs prodding. A little attention goes a long way to encourage affection."

"Yes, Mother." If her mother only knew at how much attention she had given Corbinian. Especially in the barn. Or the Chantry's shadows. Or behind the garden's hedges. Or the portrait room in the royal palace. Or most especially, on the windowsill to her own bedroom.

Lady Mayweather stepped back and admired her work, and Samantha stood like a seamstress's doll, having no care whether she lived up to her mother's expectations or not. Finally satisfied, her mother announced: "Perfection."

The rain was just beginning to fall when they arrived under the awning of the Harimann Estate. A handsome boy answered the door's call, wearing a sharp white suit with white gloves and shoes. He bowed grandly, taking their coats and leading them into the grand entryway. Some younger boy who was standing stiffly just inside the door and holding a thick stick, lifted it and brought it down onto the wooden flooring with a loud knock.

The handsome boy in white bellowed out for the whole room to hear: "The Lord and Lady Mayweather, and their daughter, Miss Samantha!"

Conversations paused, heads turned. Samantha and her mother gave a curtsey while her father bowed, and then the world around them moved again. A sea of blue. Alive and writhing.

"Sammie!" Arianna's luxurious accent drifted her way. She and Flora were both dressed to the blue nines.

"Hello, Ari. Flora." As they looked back, their eyes twinkling under the bright candlelight and chandeliers, Samantha held their hands and was grateful for friends.

"Ari bet me that I couldn't get Benji to blush. I aim to prove her wrong." Flora grinned deviously.

Arianna bounced up and town on her toes. "We'll see…!"

Samantha cracked a smile. Getting Benjamin to blush would require a whore's depravity and a rogue's wit. "Did I miss anything?"

"Just Lady Preston mooning over the floral arrangements. And the Vaels aren't here yet," Flora informed her. She lowered her voice a bit when she asked: "Any word…?" She was asking about Innley, because Samantha had told her, of course.

"No." Samantha glanced back to her parents. "Nothing."

"Beenie will get him out. He's a Vael." Flora sounded so confident, but Samantha hadn't told her how both she and Corbinian had given up on that notion.

Though Traven had warned him that there was nothing he could do, Corbinian had still tried to throw his name around in effort to change Innley's situation, but all his efforts proved fruitless. The important people who could do anything were unavailable, as important people often were. The Knight Commander was an utter stranger to them both, for it was impossible to gain audience even with his assistant. They tried speaking to the Grand Cleric, but couldn't be very forthcoming with information lest their secret trip to the Tower let out, and the First Enchanter was not a talkative man. The one time they had met him in the Chantry at service, he had spoken fewer words than Samantha thought possible to carry on a conversation.

There wasn't much else Corbinian could do with his name without drawing suspicion from his parents, or worse, the Prince of Starkhaven. He was as good and just as any other prince, but Corbinian didn't want to draw his ire for a second time. He had learned the first time around that when the prince's gaze fell upon you, it better be for honor.

Ruxton approached the pair, swaying with drink, followed by Helena Luxley and Vincent Tyler who both looked beleaguered by chasing around their drunken friend.

"You look beautiful, Sammie," Ruxton announced happily.

"Thank you, Ruxty. May the Maker bless you with good fortune!" She gave him a genuine smile with the standard name-day wish. She didn't get to see Ruxton much anymore. The Harimanns had decided he needed to break from his shell. They had hired a riding instructor, a swordarm, a languages teacher, two private tutors, and given him a squire, whom, as Samantha heard it, Ruxton used mostly to smuggle booze.

"Won't you take a turn about the room—" He paused a moment, refocusing his eyes. "—with me?"

Samantha smiled wide, trying not to laugh.

Vincent laughed tiredly. "I think you'd best sit down."

"What? I feel fine—"

A loud knock made Ruxton nearly jump out of his breeches. Even with the music and the chatter, the _thunk_ echoed throughout the hallway and all heads turned to the handsome boy in white who announced, "The Lord and Lady Fortney and their daughter, Miss Gwendolyn, and son, Robaire!"

Most paused, some even held their breath. With a heart-shaped face, and the longest eyelashes of anyone in Granite Circle, eleven-year-old Robaire turned the heads of all the younger daughters of Starkhaven whenever he arrived. It also helped that his family had the most wealth next to the Vaels. Gwendolyn, still as willowy as an elf, was the inheritor of the Fortney Estate because she was the eldest, just like Flora and Samantha. But she was a sickly girl, weak of heart and stamina, and most assumed that she would sign over all family holdings to her younger brother once he came of age. Because of this, every noblewoman of lower rank was eager to match him with their daughter, but the frontrunner for that lottery was Lady Kendall, the daughter of Lord Kendall, who had an eye to match her daughter Tyne, who was just eight.

"Maker!" Samantha turned to look at the boy with the stick. "What's with the knocking?"

Flora rolled her eyes. "My mother thinks that Orlesian customs make her more important."

"They do that in Orlais?"

"Who knows?" she droned. "The important thing is that _she_ thinks so."

Samantha looked at Lady Harimann across the room. She was wearing a blue-tinted fur shawl; she must have had it dyed for this very occasion. "I think I would go mad if I had to live around that all that racket."

"Oh, they're mad already, but thankfully it's just for this night." Flora took a long drink from her glass, savoring the fizzy liquid. "But it was the Fortneys, so they deserved a knock."

"We're debating who deserves a knock and who doesn't?" Samantha asked.

"Of course!" Ruxton lifted his glass and nearly dropped it.

Another knock against the floor made Samantha jump – who in Orlais came up with this?

"The prince and princess of Starkhaven, and their sons, Marquess Corbinian and Lord Goran!"

The pause for this group was a bit longer as everyone in the room curtsied and bowed in return. When conversations started back up again, most of them involved complimenting the princess's shimmering satin gown, which had a train so long that Samantha was certain someone would step on it, and then Princess Vael would fall face-first into the Harimanns' plush sea-green rug.

Flora pointed a tipsy finger in the Vaels' direction. "Now _they_ deserve a knock."

Everyone agreed.

Ruxton laughed merrily. "I should go outside and come back in to get another!"

"A fine idea, Ruxty!" Flora announced, nudging him. "Off you go. Go on."

Arianna giggled madly, Vincent seemed glad to be rid of the Ruxton-watching duties, but Helena looked somewhat concerned as they watched the young and very drunk Lord Ruxton wander off.

"That's not very nice."

Flora sighed dramatically. "Oh, lighten up, Helena."

Samantha wasn't really listening to them anymore. Like one of those dreams where the world turned fuzzy except for one singular person who remained crystal clear, she had seen Corbinian. He and Goran were dressed nearly identical in navy blue vests with lighter-blue embroidery, a high collar, and crisp white shirts.

"Oh, Sammie. He's so handsome." Arianna purred into her ear. "What's he like?"

"Ari, you know Beenie…"

"Benji told me what he wrote in that letter… I bet he's an adventurous lover. Full of spirit! With a firm grip, yes?"

Samantha was about to quip something about a left-handed grip, but Helena spoke before her. "A lady never tells."

"Ladies! There are no _ladies_ here, Elena!" Arianna always dropped the H.

Helena huffed in response, and Flora gently touched her arm. "Do be careful, Ari! Ladies like our friend here are not dissimilar to flowers. If you brush up against them wrongly, they will wilt right in front of you!"

Helena yanked her arm away and Flora giggled into her glass, but a deep voice answered from behind them. "Her Grace, Grand Cleric Francesca, is a lady."

Samantha whirled around to see Corbinian. His blue eyes matched the embroidery on his vest, and while he tried to mask it, they were clouded with concern. Was it for Innley? Was it for her? It ceased to matter when he took her hand.

"But Francesca is not _here_," Arianna declared.

"Yes, she is." He gestured over her shoulder, and the Antivan girl twirled around to see the Grand Cleric herself, granting a name-day blessing to the young Ruxton Harimann, who swayed under her gentle hand. He had apparently wandered in wrong direction.

Thankfully, the Lord and Lady Harimann didn't notice as they were busy with their obsequious courtesies to the Duke and Duchess of Starkhaven.

"Pfeh." Arianna scoffed. "Any woman who still has her maidenhood doesn't count."

Samantha quickly lifted her glass to her lips, drinking deep, and Corbinian squeezed her hand. Flora caught it too and, perhaps wanting to spare her friend the embarrassment of answering any more questions, clinked her glass against Arianna's.

"Benjamin might blush in front of Francesca…" And before Arianna could dispute that, Flora turned about, her long hair fanning across her back as she sauntered towards her prey. Arianna chased after her, and the skirt of her dress flowed out spectacularly as she bounced up and down in Flora's wake.

"She is so…" Helena paused before she huffed out in apparent shock.

"Who? Ari?" Corbinian looked over the heads of everyone across the room. "What's not to like?"

Vincent shook his head. "Her father is quite lax with her manners…"

Even though Arianna would likely think the accusation hilarious, and Samantha normally would never raise her voice at a party, she suddenly felt the need to defend her Antivan friend. "Arianna is a kind girl, full of life and happiness. If we could all be as lucky to live so free."

Vincent turned a funny expression to her. "You live in more luxury than most, Sammie. You want for nothing, are nearly engaged to royalty, and you wish to educate us on luck?"

"We have all suffered misfortunes, Vin, or have you forgotten about Innley?" She spoke so quickly, forgetting about those topics which were permissible and those that were not that she thought he would admonish her right then and there, but it was Helena who surprised her. The girl's eyes snapped to her so fast that, if they had been arrows, Samantha would have been dead.

Vincent scowled. "Your brother is a mage who lied about it for years. Imagine what would have happened if a demon possessed him while at a social gathering! Important people could have died!"

Corbinian slid his arm around Samantha's waist in a show of confidence. "Now, now, Vin. Lest we forget whose arm you hold, I wouldn't say too many poor things about the boy who made your match possible."

Vincent's mouth dropped open with incredulity, but Helena's eyes widened nervously.

"Perhaps we should part company," the young girl said.

"Yes." Vincent offered a stiff bow. "Good night, Your Excellency. Miss Samantha."

Helena seemed delayed in her curtsy, glancing back over her shoulder as Vincent escorted her away.

Corbinian snickered. "How kind of him to remember our titles."

"Did you see that?" She asked him.

"I saw him make an ass of himself."

"No. Helena. She looked at me funny when I mentioned Innley."

"Maybe she's curious about him. Your mother and hers were encouraging them, I heard. I'm sure they thought it was a great misfortune that he was sent away."

"Misfortune for _us_," Samantha muttered bitterly.

"Well, they are rather repressed."

She had to give him that; the Luxleys were exceedingly conservative, not just in their politics but in their engagements as well. Lord and Lady Luxley were standing in the next room near a suit of arms, probably admiring its stiffness.

Corbinian wrinkled his brow. "How exactly were they going to match them, again?"

"Hand-holding and meaningful stares across chantry pews," she grumbled.

"Ahh, so just like us, then!"

She brought forth a small smile. "Exactly, but I imagine it's the promise of nudity that retains our friendship."

"Ahh, yes! Of course. I did promise to disrobe for you, didn't I? How fortunate for us both that you remembered!"

Samantha suppressed a giggle; she couldn't stay so heartbroken around Corbinian for long.

"Poor Vincent," He said, shaking his head. "Stuck with a prude. If she had half your daring, maybe she could break from that crusty old house and find herself a life."

"Perhaps we should ask Lord Kendall's advice, since he's here and all."

"A fine idea." Corbinian looked up, finding the hunched old man seated against the wall, nipping at a glass of brown liquor, his earhorn firmly in hand but laid by his knee.

They moved across the room, turning their shoulders to squeeze between people and furniture. Once they were at Lord Kendall's side, he attempted to get up, but Corbinian held up a hand so he wouldn't. The man was old; his weathered skin was splotchy and thin, and they could see the faint blue veins streaming in his hands as brought his earhorn to his ear.

"Tell me, Lord Kendall!" Corbinian yelled above the hum of the room. "How would you advise Helena Luxley in the ways of love?"

Lord Kendall blinked. "_What_?"

"Indeed! It's a mystery to us as well! Thank you, sir!"

Lord Kendall smiled confusedly, nodding his head like the dim often did, trying to pass for having understood. Samantha supposed it was easier that way. As they moved away through the crowded front room, another knock jolted Samantha into a neighboring servant who responded to her clumsiness with veneration.

"The Lord and Lady Dufour, and their son, Lord Paavo, and daughter, Lady Taru!"

Samantha had just about enough of the knocking. Looking at all the people in the room, and imagining that there had been a knock for each family, she thought for certain there should be a hole beneath the feet of the boy with the stick.

Corbinian looked back at the boy. "I'm glad I was late."

"I was, too."

"What's your excuse?"

"My mother," she said, as though that explanation was enough. "She decided upon this evening to instruct me on the ways of affection. I am to _encourage you_, as she puts it."

"Excellent. Perhaps she and I should compare notes on the subject."

"Maker!" Samantha near dropping her wine glass at the thought.

For the first time all night, he laughed truly. "We're always late to parties. Aside from royalty never arriving on time as a matter of conceit, my mother had to change five times. She's weird about clothes. You, by the way, look beautiful."

"You never fail to compliment me, Beenie."

"I was raised right."

"As opposed to Goran. The other half of your parent's experiment?"

The pair looked across the room to see the Harimanns chatting up the Vaels with Goran at their side, but he wasn't paying attention to the conversation. Rather, he was looking across the room to Flora, who was giggling next to Arianna, still trying to make Benjamin blush.

"Someone's working awfully hard," Samantha commented on Flora's parents.

"You should have seen the invitation. I think they held this party for him." Corbinian meant his brother.

"You mean for Flora?" Samantha noted how Flora was studiously avoiding Goran. "She won't give him a chance."

"I know that. You know that. The entire neighborhood knows that. All but Goran. He's a Vael."

"What does that mean?" She looked up to him.

He smiled down at her. "It means that once we set our eyes one something, we tend to not look away." He sat his drink down on a nearby table. "Come. I requested this song."

She tuned her ear to the orchestra who had just begun playing a piece that sounded very familiar. Just above the clacking of shoes against wood, she thought it sounded like the song from her sixteenth name day party. When she, Corbinian, and Meghan Vael's locket had found solace in her estate's gardens.

The grand ballroom was decorated like a seabed; banners of turquoise and azure boldly waved from far above the dancers' heads whose bodies were swaying with the ebb and flow of musical current. Men in silken blue doublets and women in sparkling blue satin gowns turned the room into an aquarium of soft movement. There was quiet laughter, gentle smiles, and the damp wisps of hair that fell from so many ladies' heads implied that they had been dancing in groups, but no longer. Now bodies were coming together in twos, creating spaces in the deluge.

Most of Samantha's and Corbinian's contact came in public after service, with her hand looped through the crook of his elbow as they walked the winding stone path. But to touch his immovable shoulders and his warm neck, and to feel his large hands on her hips and her back… it was a level of intimacy that still felt quite new. In the days since visiting Innley, it was always nice to be touched like that.

"Are you going to pick up where your aunt left off?" she asked, suggesting that he was going to whip Goran into a gentleman.

Corbinian smoothed his right hand around her waist. "Oh, no. He's a lost cause. But I do like rubbing it in."

She tried not to feel awkward with her right hand over his shoulder; Corbinian was left-handed and thus they had to do everything backwards. "You will make an excellent Captain, Beenie. The way you inspire people."

"As long as I can inspire the color from you…" He winked.

Maker! He was a boy obsessed with knickers.

The corners of her mouth lifted into a sweet smile, and she recognized that he was trying to cheer her up, to make her forget about Innley, even just for one night. "And what do I receive in return?"

"My good graces." But she made a face and he laughed. "Not enough for you? I'll name my sword after you."

"You're not even trying!" She pushed him a little.

"Oh all right, my horse, too."

"Beenie! You're _not_ going to name a horse after me!"

"You've not met my horse."

Arianna interrupted their smiles. "Such cute laughter!" She was on the arm of Benjamin Garrity, who seemed quite enamored with her – that, or it was the four glasses of champagne in him. "Are you saying naughty things, Beenie?"

"How else am I supposed to improve my reputation?"

"Perhaps it is Sammie's reputation that causes such admirers, then?" She giggled, her gaze drifting past them both.

Samantha turned her head, her silver necklace tickling her collarbone where Meghan Vael's locket was supposed to be as she twisted to discover a man staring at her. He was older, handsome, with dark hair and dots for eyes, and he was dressed in a sharp but plain black suit with a golden vest. When her eyes met his, he gave her a peculiar look, but something happened in those few seconds that turned his mouth into a smile, and the lines around his eyes deepened.

"Andraste's ass…" Corbinian muttered.

Arianna tittered in Benjamin's arms. "Sammie! Did you see that boy, Paavo? The Prestons' nephew? Isn't he handsome? Did you see?"

Benjamin grumbled to Arianna, "Does your attention ever stay in one place for very long?"

"Only if that place is interestink," she purred back at him suggestively.

"Come on, Sammie," Corbinian interrupted, twisting his body around to lead her away from the bickering duo, Arianna and Benjamin.

The Harimanns' estate was nearly packed, and though the estate itself was large, the front rooms were rather small for so large a gathering. Corbinian's shoulders knocked into people, and he muttered his excuses as he pulled on Samantha's arm.

"Who—?" Samantha tried to ask, but another knock made her teeth chatter. She faintly heard the yell _Lord Ruxton Harimann_ to which the entire front room whooped with laughter.

Her surroundings turned chaotic as they moved with alacrity through a series of rooms filled with people, their faces pinched with half-lidded eyes and wide-open mouths, laughing and loud, a blur of blue joviality. Finally, Corbinian pushed open a windowed set of double doors, stepping onto a terrace covered by an awning. There was a quieter group here, three couples all leaning up against a different spot of the long balcony which overlooked the Harimanns' gardens. The rain fell softly through the air, patting against the leaves of the barren bushes. The sea was outside on this night as well, it seemed.

The warm night's breeze ruffled Samantha's ribbons. "Who was that? Why did we run away so fast? What's wrong?"

Corbinian took a deep breath, but looked troubled. "That was the Knight Commander."

Samantha felt a wave of surprise roll through her body like a fireball. That man in the plain suit – of course it was plain, it was likely the official suit of the Knight Commander, and he wasn't well-off by any standard.

"Why is he here?"

"Clearly, he was invited. Lady Harimann must be desperate for attention."

"He smiled at me. Why did he do that?" She felt confounded, but Corbinian's shoulders hunched as he dug his hands deep into pockets, entirely displeased. She asked, more to herself: "Is he playing with us?"

"I don't know what he's doing. He refuses all requests to see me, but makes time for _parties_."

He seemed frustrated at the powerlessness of his name. Usually granted audiences with whomever he liked, if his name didn't work, Corbinian didn't know what else to use. She felt powerless, too. From morning to evening, she spent time alone with her tutors or servants, with friends if she could and Corbinian whenever he was available, but always there was Innley. His whimpers echoed through her memory. While Samantha had felt this kind of frustration all her life, she wasn't used to seeing Corbinian this way.

Leading him to an open spot on the balcony, she snaked her arms around his waist, and his body relaxed against her as the ribbons of her dress danced around them wildly, and, for one amazing moment, she felt free of burden. Absorbed in his steadiness, with the whoosh of the breeze and the drone of the rain, she kept focused on the buttons of his crisp shirt, her eyes opened because there were nothing but nightmares in the dark.

Corbinian lifted her chin with a finger, leaning down to kiss her, and she parted her lips to welcome him until the terrace doors opened and they startled back from each other. It was a boy in white; one of the Harimanns' servants. He surveyed the balcony, and his gaze landed upon the Vael.

"Marquess." He bowed deeply, and the other couples on the balcony turned to stare at Corbinian – he was a celebrity. "Your presence is requested in the second floor library."

Corbinian lifted her hand to his lips. "Meet me in the downstairs sitting room?"

"Okay."

As his back disappeared through the double doors, she lifted her fingers to her cheeks to stave off the flush and wished that somewhere in Starkhaven, there was a moment's privacy.

The path to the downstairs sitting room took a bit longer than it should have, because she wanted to avoid the dancing room for fear of running into the Knight Commander. She passed through room after room and assortments of people and activities; card playing, wine tasting, enormous paintings where someone was describing who was in each one, and a music room where Gwendolyn Fortney was weakly chirping out a song with an accompanying piano, until finally she arrived at her destination. There were nothing but ladies in the downstairs sitting room, and one of them was calling for Samantha.

"Miss Samantha!" Lady Preston waved a hand in the air, each thick finger decorated with a ring. "Come sit with us, dear."

Lady Preston was chatting with her sister, Lady Dufour of Orlais, and the Dufours' daughter who had already inherited her title, Lady Taru. She was a tiny thing, delicate and pale with amethysts for eyes and hair as black as the night. The two older women were all smiles, but Taru seemed bored, even with a drink held idly in hand. She sighed with ennui under a gigantic window framed with a tapestry that was embroidered with tiny green leaves. They could have been snow, falling sadly over the head of _le petit Taru_.

"Miss Samantha," Lady Preston greeted her warmly. "This is my niece, Lady Taru."

Beleaguered with the events of the evening, Samantha settled nearby on a round cushion chair. She could have conversed with the girl in her native language, as Samantha had been taught Orlesian from a young age, but it would have been rude to those who were nearby. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance."

Taru laboriously opened her mouth to speak, her Orlesian accent as thick as cold butter. "You are attached to the Marquess, no?"

Not technically true, but Samantha nodded. "Yes. Do you have an engagement back in Orlais?"

The girl paused momentarily, perhaps translating Samantha's words in her head. "No. My brother will not allow it."

That was right; she had a brother, Paavo, the handsome boy Arianna had mentioned. And Samantha had heard that they were twins. "Why not?"

"He believes—mm..." She seemed irritated at having to speak the common language. "How does one know one's art if one does not allow it to explore?"

"Art?"

"Not Art. Art!" Taru rolled her eyes and set a pale hand upon her chest. "Art."

Samantha's mouth formed an 'o'. "Oh! Heart!"

"Yes," she puffed.

"But sometimes, the heart wants what it wants."

"And sometimes the art is stupid," the girl said flippantly, tossing her long flat hair over her shoulder. Samantha decided then that they would not be friends.

Lady Mayweather appeared in the doorway, scanning the room. When she spotted her daughter, she sailed through the sea of blue gracefully, smiling to noble men and women as she passed. She extended her hands to her daughter, lifting her up from her cushion, and for once, Samantha was grateful for her mother's rescue.

"Where is Father?" Samantha asked.

"In the upstairs library." She turned a curious eye to her mother, and as they walked, Lady Mayweather leaned closer to her daughter's ear. "With the Duke and the Marquess…"

Samantha swallowed hard; she had to contain her expression, especially in front of her mother, whose voice betrayed her elation.

"They are speaking about you, for your father is ready to give his consent."

Samantha watched Vincent enter the room and scan all the faces. Then she heard him ask someone if they had seen Helena. They hadn't. "Why this night?"

Her mother slipped her arm through Samantha's as she led her around the room, still speaking softly. "He has been observing you, and when he saw you two greet Lord Kendall, he felt great admiration for a royal boy who would pay such respect to his elders."

Samantha could have been knocked over with a feather – they had gone to visit Lord Kendall in jest, and her parents had seen it as some grand gesture! It was the first time in half a year that she felt like she would burst out laughing. For a fleeting moment, she wanted to. She wanted to laugh madly at the circumstance of this life, at the pomp and the customs, at the rules and the punishments. To tell her mother that what she thought she saw was a great big lie. How many other great big lies did Lady Mayweather choose to see every day?

Her mother continued. "He didn't want to wait, since the Duke's family is here. We don't want to overshadow Lord Harimann's night, so be careful of your expressions, darling. We will announce it properly in the coming weeks."

_Properly_. Was Innley rotting away in that dungeon _properly_? Samantha felt a wave of revulsion for this woman at her side who could so easily dismiss one child while celebrating the other. Suddenly, propriety seemed like the last thing in the world of any importance.

"Do you think about Innley, Mother? Do you wonder what his match to Helena would have been like?"

There was a lapse of time; the sea shifted around them violently but they remained unmolested in their attentions, and the clinking of glasses and high pitched squeals from noblewomen who had drunk too much champagne drifted on the peripheral tide of blue swirling movement.

When words did spill from her lips, Lady Mayweather's voice was gentle and measured. "This is an exciting time, and it will be celebrated with decorum. Never you mind about the details, darling. I'll take care of everything."

She stared up into her mother's face, the expression warm yet opaque. Just like Innley, in her mother's eyes Samantha didn't exist either, replaced with the daughter of her dreams.

"Darling." Samantha's father stepped in front of them, and he was smiling – smiling! She didn't know he could do that.

"Father." She greeted him dully.

The royal family came through the doors then, and conversations quieted considerably as the Vaels joined the Mayweathers. Samantha and her mother separated to curtsey. They would not come together again.

"My Lady." The Duke of Starkhaven bowed deeply before them. "Miss Samantha."

"Your Excellency." Lady Mayweather blushed.

The Duchess smiled warmly. "I believe we will be dining again soon."

"I look forward to it."

Corbinian appeared behind them somewhat dazedly, and Goran behind him. The Marquess spoke as if he had been given a directive. "Miss Samantha, won't you allow us to take you home in the royal carriage?"

If they didn't want to overshadow Ruxton's night, they were doing a poor job. Still, there was only one answer to give, and she accepted with a noble's cordiality. The Duchess extended her arm, and Samantha took it somewhat awkwardly. She was a tall woman, slender and graceful, and being this close to her reminded Samantha of Goran. Yes, she realized, Goran resembled his mother quite resoundingly.

As the two families made their way out of the party, Corbinian's mother leaned into Samantha's ear and said in her drippy drawl: "There is plenty of time to think about it and a child isn't expected in your first year, but there is a naming tradition that we should speak of."

_Andraste's Flaming Sword_! Children?

To her parents, Samantha was a tool. To his parents, she was an heir-making factory. To the Knight Commander, she was a pawn. To her friends, she was an accessory. She glanced over her shoulder to Corbinian who smiled at her amusedly, likely enjoying her suffering on his mother's arm. At least to him, she was just Sammie.

That was worth the color, and she mouthed the word, "_white"_, much to his delight.


	10. 9:27 Dragon, Early Spring

**9:27 Dragon, Early Spring**

To say that Corbinian and Samantha were standing in a darkened corner of the Circle library was a bit of a misnomer, because every corner was dark. They were waiting. They had been waiting for half an hour. The pair found it much easier to arrange this visit, because the Grand Cleric had recently left Starkhaven with her entourage to attend the Ten Year Gathering in Orlais.

Held at the beginning of spring, the Ten Year Gathering was a meeting where every Grand Cleric from every major city made a pilgrimage to the White Divine's Spire in Orlais to meet about current issues facing the Chantry, and no less than five hundred of Starkhaven's citizens joined as pilgrims. One of those citizens just so happened to be the Knight Commander of Starkhaven.

With a quieter Chantry and Templar Order, Corbinian had found it much easier to bypass the layers of bureaucracy and suddenly the Vael name had weight again. Admittedly, neither Corbinian or Samantha knew anything about the inner workings of the Circle, nor about their fraternities or politics. So, when Corbinian learned that Innley was going to be released back into the general population, his natural reaction was to ask why. The ensuing answers were all rather confusing.

Some elaborate ritual exorcism had taken the place of the Rite of Tranquility, and the demons attacking Innley had been repelled, or so Corbinian's Circle contacts said. When pressed, they clarified that he wasn't possessed, but didn't say much more than that. Afterwards, he had been given a series of magical exams – not a Harrowing – and was allowed small freedoms at first: an unlocked cell, visits from fraternity mages, and the permission to work simple spells. Additionally, he was repeatedly given tests of sanity, because they wouldn't allow him to be released until his mental state could be known for certain – which Corbinian found rather ironic. The Circle wasn't exactly a nurturing environment. As to why he ended up in that cell, _the_ _incident_, they heard naught but a vague reference.

The reason Innley was being let loose from strict restriction was because he had been sponsored by a fraternity; in essence, some group of Enchanters volunteered to mentor and train him, to guide him not just with magic, but with points of etiquette, such as _when to talk_. Then, of course, he would need to pass his Harrowing once he turned nineteen. The Enchanters, who themselves were also a mystery, claimed him in late winter and it wasn't long after that before the fraternity was able to help him pass his sanity tests; thus, Innley was as free as a Circle mage could be.

Once they learned when Francesca was due to leave the city, it had only taken a month for Corbinian to arrange a visit – with the help of Ser Traven this time. The Templar seemed to feel so terrible about their previous visit that he had taken a special interest in helping Samantha see her brother. This time, Traven had escorted them only as far as the marble-encased library, but the same thick darkness covered everything from the wall sconces that flickered at their passing to the barren faces of nameless mages.

"What's taking so long?" Samantha whined.

Corbinian didn't say anything. He looked tense; his hands were clasped behind his back, his shoulders squared and his jaw set firm. Samantha dealt with her nerves by fidgeting, but the marquess was made of stone.

"He'll be here," Traven assured her. He walked out between the stacks for the third time, and for the third time, the battleaxe strapped to his back tapped against his plate mail creating a pinging sound that made Samantha want to tear someone's eyes out.

She grew fitful in the silence of waiting – she got enough of that at home – and besides, it was rude to stand around and say nothing. "Where are you from, Ser Traven?" she asked the Templar.

He glanced back at her with little patience. "Why?"

She paused at his suspicion. "If you prefer we stand in silence—"

His shoulders dropped. "My apologies, my lady. I'm used to mages who have less than honorable intentions. I grew up an orphan in the Chantry of Nevarra. I believe I was born in the Anderfels."

"What happened to your family?"

"My mother lives, my lady."

She blinked naively. "Then how can you be an orphan?"

"Because she is a whore. At least, she was when I was born." He offered a small smile when Samantha's cheeks flushed. "There is no need to feel embarrassed, my lady. It is a simple truth about her, not about me."

He turned his shoulders away, stepping between the stacks to see if Innley was coming yet, and again his battleaxe pinged annoyingly.

Corbinian had listened to their exchange in curiosity. "Why did you join the Order?"

"Seemed like a noble thing to do. Protect mages. Protect people. Be part of something good."

Samantha and Corbinian exchanged glances; Ser Traven had used the past tense.

"Here we go," Traven said, and Corbinian managed to stand up a little straighter while Samantha took a step forward.

She had been expecting a boy to round the corner, but instead came face to face with a man. He had the same soft bronze hair as hers, but Innley's had changed and now hung to his shoulders. He had a scar over his left brow which divided it in two, and the eyes beneath seemed sharper than she remembered. She had to tilt her chin back to look at him, for he was now taller as well. The only thing that remained from the dungeon was his stubbly beard, which, now trimmed to a patch on his chin, looked much nicer.

It seemed like no one had told him where he was headed, for the look of confusion that graced his fair face gave way, at first, to recognition, and then unrestrained joy. For the first time at the Circle, Samantha saw happiness on a mage's face.

"Sammie…?" He opened his mouth in surprise, and she didn't wait to throw her arms around his neck and hug him close. "Sammie…" He gripped her tight, breathing her name again and again, and she closed her eyes, no longer fearing the darkness as relief poured out in her tears. She hadn't realized just how tense she had been for the last year, but holding her brother close, whole and new, she relapsed into innocence, even if it was just for a moment.

"I can't breathe…" he rasped and she loosened her arms. "There… Maker's breath! You seem taller."

"Taller? I'm shorter than you now!"

He chuckled softly, and she felt grateful that the Circle hadn't taken away his calm demeanor. "How did you get in here? Do Mother and Father know?"

"Maker, no!" She laughed, gesturing to Corbinian. "Beenie arranged our visit in secret."

It took a moment for her brother to tear his eyes away from her, but he seemed startled at Corbinian's presence. "Beenie… I didn't see you there!" He thrust his hand forward, and the marquess grasped Innley's hand with both of his. "_You_ arranged this?"

"Took me long enough," Corbinian muttered. He was trying to make a joke, but his relief was obvious. "You look well."

"I feel fine," Innley assured them both. "Everyone keeps a close watch on me these days, but I feel fine."

"Do you… remember anything?" Samantha asked cautiously, although she was afraid of his answer. "Do you remember our visit?"

He hesitated before he answered, glancing at Traven and biting his bottom lip pensively. "No. I'm sorry, I don't. They tell me that I was… not myself."

"You were out of sorts," Corbinian said with a smirk. "A right mess. The only thing that would have made it worse is getting riotously drunk and dancing in the fountain of Andraste!"

Samantha had been worried about what to say, but she should have known that Corbinian would make the exchange easier.

Innley stifled his laugh, as if he were used to keeping his voice hushed at all times. "I am treated just fine here. They won't let me out, of course, but I guess you can't have everything."

"Why didn't you ever tell me?" she asked him quietly. "About being a mage?"

He moved his hand to hers. "I didn't want you to have to lie for me. It wouldn't have been fair to you."

"But I would never have told—!"

"I know that! But you would never have been safe. Magic is a part of _me_. It doesn't have to be a part of you. And besides that, you're a terrible liar."

Corbinian chuckled. "Got that right."

"Hey!" Samantha pouted. "I can keep secrets!"

Innley grinned. "I'm sorry, sister, but you really can't. Remember when our father's pocket watch went missing?"

"I was six!" she protested. "He cornered me! What was I supposed to do?"

"You were supposed to lie!" His smile quickly faded. "Do they… talk about me?"

She opened her mouth, wishing more than anything for a lie to come out, but nothing did.

Crestfallen, he looked down to his soft shoes, which drew Samantha's gaze to the rest of his attire: he was wearing a dress – well, it was technically a robe – and she wondered if he was wearing traditional attire underneath.

"I talk about you," Samantha said resolutely, and her brother looked up, his eyes reddened with blinked-back tears.

"Then I suppose you're all I've got."

"Ahem." Corbinian lifted his hand up. "Someone else. Right here."

Innley chuckled softly. "Right. I suppose I could do worse than a marquess."

"I believe that's how Sammie feels as well."

They all chuckled, and even Ser Traven, who was working to stay out of the way, smiled quietly.

"How is it here otherwise?" Samantha asked her brother.

He shrugged. "It's all right, I suppose. I have a fraternity interested in me – well, interested in my abilities, I guess. They are just over there." He pointed down the row and Samantha tilted her neck, peering past the bookshelf to see where he meant.

At the tip of Innley's finger was an eclectic group of mages, who all wore long grey robes with delicate red thread woven in a pattern along the hem. There was a woman with a strange tattoo on her face, a long-haired young man who walked with a cane, a very dark-skinned boy around Innley's age, an older man with a shock of blond hair and a beard that nearly covered his face, and a comely woman who was staring off into space. In between hushed whispers, they would occasionally glance over at a pair of Templars, one of which was Langley, who was sneering in return. Apparently, contempt for mages was something the mages didn't approve of.

Innley pointed at each mage in succession. "That's Grace, Wendell, Alain, Decimus, and Terrie. They are quite kind, actually. They have been helping me with my magic. Learn spells, learn to harness energy, learn to control my dreams. It's all normal stuff for mages, apparently."

This was all new to Samantha. "Wow."

"Decimus has been great. He's my mentor. He may look like a traveling worker, but he's got a keen mind. And Grace, she's quite funny. She has this great joke about—" he glanced at Traven who had taken a sudden interest. "—about goats. And Alain, he's just like me, actually; his parents live in Nevarra, and he was taken away from them and brought here. They were all very impressed to know that I was born here. They say that it's really rare that a mage is allowed to stay in the city where their family is."

"Why?"

"They have done studies. Seems mages are likely to escape if they're familiar with the city, whereas if the mage is a stranger to the area, they are more likely to accept life in the Circle."

"So you get to be their experiment, then?" Corbinian joked.

"In more than ways than one," Innley quickly replied, but glanced at Traven nervously after the words left his mouth.

Samantha looked cautiously at Traven, too; the Templar was watching Innley, but he didn't seem as intense as Langley. She asked her brother, "So, they're watching out for you, then?"

He hemmed a little. "For the most part. Terrie, she's been really great. She makes sure I have all my books and my robes. There are so many rules here… you wouldn't believe it."

"It sounds like they're a good lot."

"They aren't like you, and this isn't home—" He hesitated another moment, glancing at Traven nervously before he spoke again. "If I pass my Harrowing and become an Enchanter someday, I'll be able to join their order. I'll have a voice here, respect, a title."

His voice trailed off but he never looked away. She could see it in his eyes. There were other things he wanted to say but didn't because of the Templar standing nearby listening to their every word. His chin tipped down sadly, and Samantha felt like a child for all her powerlessness. It didn't feel fair, this type of youth, to be thrust into adulthood too soon where the life ahead seemed to loom instead of tempt.

Her chin wavered. "I miss you."

"I miss you, too," he whispered.

"Forgive me." Ser Traven had become an expert at apologies. "It's time Innley returned to his duties."

He hugged her again, tighter than she had squeezed him before, and she heard his voice, barely perceptible, in her ear. "I want to go home."

But he couldn't come home, and even if he did, she knew her parents would turn him back over to the Circle. He wasn't their son anymore. He wasn't even a Mayweather. As much as Samantha treasured seeing him, she wondered if perhaps keeping him in Starkhaven, like Innley had suggested earlier, was a bad idea. Was he less likely to accept his life here?

Corbinian placed a hand on her arm, and Samantha turned her head against Innley's shoulder, looking into the Vael-blue eyes of the person who made this possible, and grateful for his intervention. Upon release, she touched her brother's face, wanting to preserve the memory in every possible way, and underneath her hands, his eyes pleaded for a different life. Samantha wondered if she had done him a disservice by coming here. Had she made things worse?

It looked like it pained Ser Traven to gesture to the other Templars to lead Innley away, but her brother didn't move as they came for him. He didn't blink when they placed their armored fingers on his shoulder where her cheek had just been. He didn't speak when they ordered him to return down the hall. And he didn't fight them when they pushed his body into movement. They weren't unkind, but they were his keepers, his jailors disguised as protectors, and the obvious truth that went ignored was how much they enjoyed it.

The world seemed less majestic that it had before. Evil used to be ethereal, a construct made of imaginary figures in books and legends, but now it had a face – no, worse, a whole group of faces. Templars, the Knight Commander, magic, and her parents. Evil was made by women and men who insisted that the evil they did was somehow less evil than that of others. Did the fact that they saved Innley from an attack by a demon – or so they said – mean that all the other things they did were justifiable? Locking him up? Keeping them apart? What they did, and how they did it, created the stigma that kept her parents from acknowledging Innley's existence.

Traven led her and Corbinian back through the library stacks, and the bookcases passed by in a blur of dim browns and greens muted by shadow and torchlight. Once back into the bright world, filled with the Maker's light, she thought again about the lack of windows in the Circle. Someone should do something about that, she thought. The Maker's Light should shine on the mages, too.

Traven bowed formally but uncomfortably at the Circle gates, and the Marquess of Starkhaven thanked him for his service. And then it was over. Just like that.

Corbinian looked to the setting sun on the horizon. "I should get you home."

Her parents assumed she had been in the gardens with Corbinian all day. They were so easily fooled these days, willing to accept any lie as long as it involved the Vaels. It had almost become boring to lie to them, as bad as she was at it – Innley was right about that. She hooked her hand through his elbow as he walked her through the neighborhood, and she paused at the fountain of Andraste, looking up the warrior prophetess for answers, but finding only stone.

"Tell me everything will be all right," she said hollowly, turning to see Corbinian staring at Andraste as well.

She wasn't sure she believed him when he said, "Everything will be all right, Sammie." She wasn't sure he believed it, either.

"Can you come by tonight?"

"Only if it's through your window." He hadn't lost his sense of humor. "I don't even want to see _my_ parents tonight."

"At least you can avoid yours."

They walked slowly back to her estate, their moods subdued after such an emotionally exhausting afternoon at the Circle. Still, he bowed deeply at the door, and gave her a wink before sauntering off down the street.

She bathed, spent the evening in silence with her parents at dinner, and then later in the solemn library of her family estate she read _Thedas: Myths and Legends_ by the famed Chantry scholar, Brother Genetivi; Samantha always enjoyed his writing.

Finally, when she was dismissed to her bedroom, she walked up the darkened stairs of her darkened house, pausing to scowl at the portrait of flowers where Innley used to be. Sometimes, she wished she had the courage to rip the painting from the wall and smash it into a million pieces.

She paused once she got to her room, for draped across the chair of her writing desk was a dark coat, its long back pooling on the rug. A fire bounced up and down in the hearth and she stared at it for a moment before her gaze shot over to her bed... where Corbinian reclined, his hands behind his head, wearing wool trousers, a high-collared tunic, and a smile.

She brought a hand to her forehead. "_Maker_, Beenie. You scared me! I didn't think you'd be here already!"

"Close the door."

She pushed the heavy plank of wood closed and when she turned back around, he was beside her, sweeping her up against him and twirling her around the room. Her melancholy nearly fell away with his warmth infecting her.

He kissed her, sweet and celebratory, but pulled back shortly after, setting her feet upon the rug. "What's wrong? I thought you'd be happy."

"I was. I am. I mean…"

He sat down on the edge of her bed. "What?"

She stared at her hands in his; they were the same color, stained from the sun. Innley's had been shades lighter, withdrawn from the Maker's light. "Seeing him was a reminder of how he isn't here. He's there."

He nodded slowly. "But he's all right. He's safe and reasonably well. And you have my word that you can consider that the first visit of many."

"Really?" Was it too much to hope for?

"Really. Someday, Innley will be an Enchanter, and then he will be allowed to leave the Circle for all sorts of formal occasions."

"Don't tease me." Samantha cracked a smile.

"Perhaps even royal functions." He spread his arms wide. "Where I am the guest of honor and whoever I wish to attend will attend!"

She let out a small laugh.

"Perhaps royal functions where you are the guest of honor."

"That should be awkward for my parents," she said sourly.

He chuckled. "I've just arranged my nineteenth name day ceremony. I'm assuming you'll be there."

"Nineteen… nineteen. Is that an important year?" she teased, finding her mirth.

He shrugged. "Sort of. I mean, I'll be taking the Oath in front of my father, the prince, the Grand Cleric, the First Enchanter, the Knight Commander, and… well, everyone else in Granite Circle."

Her jaw dropped. "Well, you certainly know how to throw a party!" She suspected there was something else, but he just grinned like fool.

Standing up, he crossed the room to remove a small bottle of spirits from his coat pocket. He popped the cork and took a swig before handing the bottle over, and she took it gratefully, not realizing until that moment how much she desired a drink.

When the moon came into view outside her window, they blew out the candles of her room so she could fake sleeping. The hearth outlined the shapes of her room in thin strips of gold. Her bedposts wiggled with animation, her curtains fluttered in an imaginary wind, and atop her bed, Corbinian's cheeks grew full as he smiled. Passing the bottle between them, they sat across from each other as the night transformed the world into geometric shapes.

"Everything will change, you know," he whispered. "After that day."

"No more apprenticing with Lord Kendall?"

"He's taught me all that he can. I'll be left to my own devices, finally."

"Maker help us."

"He's too old to travel, you know."

"So you'll be traveling alone?" She passed him the bottle and he cracked a grin that turned into a genuine smile, the darkness parting with the white of his teeth. She reached out a finger to his cheeks playfully, and he swatted her away good naturedly.

"I know, I'll take you to Nevarra," he started with a hushed whisper. "There is a giant park behind the Chantry. Almost half a mile. It's huge. There's an enormous tree in that park with these rose bushes that have grown over the path, and on the other side of the tree is a tiny little clearing and a bench." She watched him talk, his voice rolling over the words in his Starkhaven accent. "I'll show you that bench when we visit."

Only a few years ago, she had doubted him. She had questioned the strength of his affection, but here in the dark, with the fire's wobbly light across half his face, she felt a swell of emotion. This boy that she had known since he was a child and would know after he became a man turned her body electric. Somewhere deep inside there was a thrumming, like he had reached into her chest and plucked a set of lute strings attached to her heart, and her whole being vibrated with song.

"What are we going to do on that bench?" she whispered back with a wicked grin.

He took several things in his hands at that moment; first the bottle of spirits, setting it upon her bedside table, then her wrists as he crossed them behind his neck, and finally that smooth patch of skin on her back just where he said he would all those years ago. As she moved into his lap, his right hand moved up her neck and into her hair.

They had spent many evening in such states, with his hands in her hair, and her hands underneath his shirt, falling back onto her bed in ardor but never to completion – again, with his gentlemanly ideas. But this night was different. On this night, when he kissed her, the vibrating lute strings became a symphony, swelling the warmth into insistence, and she felt it inside them both. When they fell back onto her pillow, she assumed that this was it. But instead, he stopped.

"What's wrong?" she asked breathlessly.

"I was thinking of that day in the barn."

She gave a sly smile. "Which one?"

"I know you remember," he teased.

Even in the low light, she could see the redness in his ears, and she supposed that she would always know him better than anyone else, these little details discovered in intimate moments. "You said…" She closed her eyes trying to remember. "Something about… the point of courtship."

"Yes." He was watching her lips move. "I said that I was going to request permission from your father before things got any more serious with us."

"Oh, is _that_ what you were saying?" she teased him back, tugging on his hair.

"I didn't want to disrespect you, silly girl."

"Obviously you've come to your senses."

He sighed with a shake of his head under her hands. "I haven't yet." He brushed her hair back with his sword hand, and she always liked the way his calluses felt against her skin. Something about the roughness of them made her feel quite feminine.

"Don't tell me you're going to start reciting poetry," she joked, but hiding that perhaps she actually wanted a declaration.

He smiled. "I'm not going to smooth talk your dress off you. Though I would surely love to know the color of what's beneath."

She answered immediately: "Blue."

His flushed hot, which she liked. "I don't want… Well, I do—" He stopped and then started again. "I want you to want to. Not because you think I want to."

She had seen the look he was giving her before. It was the same look that Sebastian's brother gave his wife as they sat in a carriage, parading their newborn son around town. It was a look that Arianna Marziano had called _dolcezza_, which translated from Antivan means something close to gentleness, and it was a look that Samantha wasn't really expecting.

"You're not new to this…"

"But that shouldn't matter. Did you think I was expecting it? That's not right."

He was sort of surprising in his gentlemanly ideas. It had been four months since her father had given his permission, and yet Corbinian had waited this long, and now he still waited, never pressing like so many other boys. The noble children of Starkhaven were not a prude bunch – well, maybe except for Ruxton Harimann, who blushed like a flower whenever someone mentioned anything remotely related to sex.

"But before—"

"None of that was serious. Not like you and me."

"You and me is it?"

"You and me, Sammie." And he meant always.

Often his irreverence implied a total lack of seriousness, but when he wanted to be serious like this, she was reminded again that he could change the trajectory of anything simply with his words. She felt suddenly nervous, as they were often irreverent together, and turning serious wasn't in their nature.

She wanted to say something meaningful or important, something to match that look he was giving her, but the between the darkness and his arms lie her thumping heart, her greatest vulnerability. It was something she had given away so long ago, she couldn't remember when it didn't belong to Corbinian. He must know. Those three words, never spoken aloud but forever implied. Looks, longing in their secrecy, in their youth, in their desire.

But, of course, he saved her from a response. "Sammie, you don't have to say anything. I just wanted you to know how I felt about it."

"Well, I…" She wanted to say something about how she felt about it, too, but the truth of it was that she had been attached to Corbinian for so long, that she had forgotten her own experiences with how demanding boys could be – namely, a certain exiled prince. "No one has ever asked me." It felt like a stupid thing to say. She could have thought of something better, something that didn't inspire the troubled look that it produced upon his fair features. That look twisted her stomach into knots. She tightened her hold behind his neck, trying to assuage his concern. "No, it's not like that. I don't know how to explain… it's just different for girls, I guess. We're at odds with each other more often than not, and when boys are against you, too… sometimes it's easier to just—"

"I don't want you to do whatever is easiest with me." He nearly spoke aloud with a conviction she had rarely seen. His arms tightened around her. "I may not be the most devout Andrastean, but that would be a sin that I could never live with."

She laughed spontaneously. "Contrary to the list that you could live with."

She could see his cheeks puff out in the dim light. "Everyone has their standards."

"Mine might be subject…"

"You think the Maker would object? To me?" He had that _I'm a Vael_ sound to his voice.

Teasing, she said, "Well, they say that the Maker has a plan for each of us in his grand plan for the world."

He considered her for a moment. "Then if His plan should ever separate me from you, Sammie, I will move the stars from the sky, I will fight demons and mages and dragons and Qunari, I will cross the Fade if I have to until I am returned to you."

There were a million things that were happening in the world at that very moment, but none mattered except for this one. She lifted up to her knees and started unbuttoning the back of her long dress. Corbinian just stared at her with wide eyes, as if he were expecting her to stop and laugh and claim it was all in good fun, but she kept her gaze fixed on his. As the cool night air traveled down her back, her bravery grew in the soft hearth's light that hinted the room. When she pulled the front of her dress down the length of her arms, she could see his Vael-blue eyes scan the length of her.

Her underwear was a pale blue with lace, like all of her favorite clothes.

He just stared at her for a long moment in the silence of the room, and his voice was unfathomably quiet when he said, "Maker's breath, Sammie."

Clothing was important to many people in Starkhaven, and often the more of it that someone wore, the more money and class they had. Lace tunics over bodices and petticoats, covered with vests and jackets and ribbons and shawls. To have them all removed, to show so much skin that was so rarely seen by anyone but a nursing mother or a maid, was one of the most intimate moments often saved for honeymoons or wedding nights. Even her friends, in their deviancy, never removed their clothes. Somehow, though he would swear he never tried, he had talked her out of her dress.

He lifted himself to his knees on her bed, his warm hands moving around her waist and it was a new and wonderful sensation to feel them on her bare skin. He seemed to be nervous or something, like he wasn't sure if he should touch her, and so she guided his hands to her body, and once given permission he was suddenly quite sure, knowing exactly where he wanted to touch her, but with softness, mindful of pressure and movement.

"Beenie," she whispered and he paused. The light of the room was nearly gone. Was there something she wanted to say? Was there something she was afraid to say? The conversations with her father, the letters, the Circle and Innley, the years that stretched behind them, and a lifetime of private jokes and inseparability had all fostered within Samantha a sense of self; she was who she was because of him, and the same went for Corbinian.

It was as if he knew what she wanted to say and so he whispered it first. "Sammie. Surely, you must know…" She was thinking about what he was about to say, the weight of those words and if things would change after, but she lost her train of thought when he said: "You are like the sun, Sammie. You light up everything, and when you go away, you take all warmth with you. I've loved you since that first day in the training yard when you called my sword small and likened my stance to a goat's." They both chuckled. "He made you beautiful and perfect. And maybe even for me."

And that was when the moment overtook them both, warm kisses with her hands moving up his back and his hands sliding up her neck. She folded his tunic backwards off his shoulders; he pulled the last ribbons from her hair. She unlaced his trousers, and he unclasped her lace underwear. They lowered themselves down to the pillows, holding each other closer than anyone would ever know, until that moment when she whispered that she loved him, too. And what was left was the loveliness in the details.

13


	11. 9:27 Dragon, Late Spring

**9:27 Dragon, Late Spring**

It wasn't every day that a Vael turned nineteen, and it was certainly uncommon for that Vael to take the Oath of Starkhaven at his name day celebration.

She had once asked him what prompted such a grand gesture, and he had replied in his characteristically snarky manner, "Because beautiful girls like you need a champion." Getting a straight answer out of him was exhausting. Still, many of those who had thought poorly of him because of that one night four years ago would likely think differently once he took the Oath. They would be the last of his detractors, however, because Corbinian was quite popular these days, amongst the nobles and commoners alike in addition to the majority of the armed forces. He was a natural leader: clever, eloquent, and always showed the proper respect.

The entirety of Granite Circle had been invited to the ceremony, in addition to some minor lords who held prominent positions with the merchant class. While the future prince's name day celebration had been the most lavish party Samantha had ever attended, this night was coming in a close second.

From the moment she entered the Royal Palace's grand ballroom, she had felt overwhelmed at the pomp, despite how accustomed she was to pageantry. Apparently, it had been too long since the Oath had been taken, because the decorations were egregious. Starkhaven's red and black banners commanded the room from every wall, hanging from ceiling supports and nearly touching the floor. Red cloths with the Starkhaven Seal in the center were draped over every table, and every single candle in the room was either black or red. Whoever designed the decorations at least had the forethought to add touches of gold to each decoration, otherwise this event could be mistaken for a military function.

As for the rest, the party was really just like any other. Tiny pieces of art that were actually food were stacked high upon serving trays that danced upon the fingertips of the servants that snaked through the room. There must have been more than fifty servants with their trays held high above their heads. Three passed Samantha within minutes of her entrance, but she still had to be quick to snatch a glass of spirits.

The colors of fashion had not been so restricted, though many revelers apparently felt it right to dress in accordance with tradition. Half of the ladies in the room wore red velvet and black satin. Lord Garrity was wearing a red velvet doublet over his enormous belly, and every time he went to scratch his whiskers the black piping along the arms crunched, as though the garment came from the Towers Age.

Samantha had ordered her dress's fashion plate from Antiva for this night. The fashions of the northern regions were not the most popular, but she had become enamored with one in particular. It was deep yellow and, in the right light, the golden beads that were stitched across the sleeveless silk bodice sparkled. The back of the dress laced up with a thick length of silk and showed a v-patch of skin down her back, which was a little risqué. Between the golden chains in her hair and Corbinian's grandmother Meghan's locket on her collarbone, Samantha felt a little out of place.

It was easy enough to slink away from her parents, for once around nobles, their attentions were drawn to making their own achievements known – namely, that their daughter was attached to royalty. Bringing her wine glass to her lips, Samantha scanned the room for familiar faces, finally spotting Flora's back draped in silken black.

She was talking to a tall boy, fair of skin, and though he couldn't remove his eyes from her, she seemed entirely bored. Flora looked up to him only to turn away disinterestedly, lifting her chin over her shoulder to check the guests. Samantha caught Flora's eye, raising a brow at this pasty boy, and Flora barely excused herself as she hurried away. The boy looked disappointed.

The pair met somewhere near the center, reaching for each other's hands, and Samantha held herself away to get a good look. Flora's dress was all silk with lavender sprigs decorating her hair. When she smiled, there was only one way to describe her.

"Flora, you look lovely!"

"Me?" Flora gave her exaggerated gawk. "Look at you! Holy Maker in the Fade – you look amazing!"

"You're yelling." Samantha said, laughing.

"Oh, sorry." She covered her mouth, though between the music and the conversations echoing off the high-ceiling, no one likely heard her. "I've had two glasses of sparkling wine already, and you have to try those little apple quiches. Maferath would have kept Andraste had she learned to make them."

"Oh, right. That's what Andraste's great crime was – she couldn't cook."

"Well, he was a barbarian. I bet he ate nothing but berries and dried beef."

"Maybe that's why he gave her up – poor nutrition," Samantha joked and Flora rolled her eyes. "And he repented because—"

"Because everyone repents when facing the spear." Flora tossed back her drink, but she wasn't laughing. Instead, she had focused a very serious look across the room.

Samantha followed her gaze to find her friend's mother, Lady Johane, standing stiffly not far away. When she and Samantha met gazes, Lady Johane looked away, her expression softening as she smiled at someone else in conversation.

Glancing at her friend, she wondered if there was a familial rift, but didn't want to press matters at a social gathering. Thankfully, Samantha didn't have to fill the silence, because as a group move away from them, opening up a space in the crowd, Flora's pout came to an abrupt halt, her eyes fixed at some point in the distance. "Andraste have mercy…"

Samantha saw her, too. Arianna Marziano was wearing one of the strangest dresses she had ever seen. Long and slender, the blood-red lace dress hugged her body, crawled up her neck to the base of her skull, and then fanned out wildly. She had cut the front of her yellow-gold hair for the occasion as well, styled to hang thickly over her eyes.

Samantha hesitated. "Well… she looks…"

"Like a witch of the wilds?" Flora finished.

"I'm glad you said it first."

Both burst into giggles, and from somewhere behind them, they heard Lord Kendall shout _what_ to someone. Samantha smiled to herself, wondering about Corbinian. She turned, looking for his Vael-auburn hair and those shoulders she knew so well, but the enormous ballroom was filled with people much taller than her. Instead of finding the man she most desired, her eyes met the man she had decided to despise: the Knight Commander of Starkhaven.

When he smiled warmly, Samantha felt distinctly uncomfortable.

She linked her arm through Flora's. "Let's take a turn about the room."

The pair strolled through casually, whispering about the ridiculous dramas infecting the families of Starkhaven. Lady Fortney was standing with her son Robaire; nearly as tall as his older sister Gwendolyn now, though the girl was still skinny as a post. The trio was chatting with the Lord and Lady Tyler, and Vincent stood at their side, strangely alone.

"Where's Helena?" Samantha asked.

Flora lowered her voice, leaning to Samantha's ear. "Top secret – apparently, Helena is dating a Templar."

"A Templar?" The daughter of a noble family waist deep in gold was dating a penniless Templar? The girl that would have been matched with Innley was dating a Templar? The word _Templar_ kept ringing through her head, but Samantha just said, "Is she trying to make her parents mad or something? Getting back at them?"

"Probably. I'll bet you a hundred sovereigns that's where she is right now. This party is really the perfect cover for a secret rendezvous." She sipped her drink artfully.

Samantha waved at Lady Preston who smiled at Samantha's passing. "So that's why Lady Fortney is introducing her daughter to Vincent…?"

"Yes." Flora sighed. "Gwendolyn isn't exactly drawing a line of suitors. I think her parents are worried that her health will prevent a match."

Samantha glanced at the girl. "Can't the alchemists make her something?"

"You mean use _magic_?" Flora replied sardonically, her expression exaggerated.

Samantha smirked; it seemed ridiculous that so many would spurn all advances in modern magical medicine, simply because the stigma associated with magic and mages. Her gaze drifted back to the room only to find the eyes of the Knight Commander, which were like beady black dots, focused squarely on her. She absentmindedly huffed in irritation.

"What?" Flora asked.

Samantha turned so she wasn't facing him, hoping to hide that she was speaking of him. "The Knight Commander. He's watching me. I think he knows that I visit Innley, but I don't care how strongly he tries to intimidate me. Innley seems to be happier every time I see him. Oh, Flora, you wouldn't recognize him in that dress they make him wear, but he has grown into a man – a mage, but a man. He's so handsome, too. I bet half of Starkhaven's girls would have looked at him like—"

"Like the way the Knight Commander is looking at you?" Flora was openly staring at the Templar, who was wearing his plain Templar suit and his plain Templar vest.

"You caught that, too?" Samantha shuddered. "It's frightening."

"Yes. Yes, it is." She didn't need further convincing. "Speaking of… my mother actually mentioned Goran Vael the other day. I swear to the Maker, she is driving me mad with this."

She could see plainly how Flora's mother was grating on her friend's last nerve. "You know, if you faked an interest in Goran, you might be able to convince your mother to let you stay with me this summer. Maybe it will buy you a reprieve."

"I don't think I can fake that," Flora replied glumly. "Besides, she always knows when I lie." Samantha knew that feeling, and smiled at her friend with compassion. Flora smiled back sadly, pulling her further away from scrying ears."She's made me... offers. To... you know..." She flung her wrists as if the rest of that statement was obvious, but huffed when Samantha shook her head in confusion. "She wants me to marry him."

Samantha nearly coughed up her wine, covering her mouth as she worked to control her laughter, but Flora wasn't laughing; she was dead serious. "You're not joking?" When Flora shook her head, Samantha calmed, turning thoughtful. "She is adamant, isn't she?"

"She thinks I should marry royalty. Corbinian and the other prince's are taken... So..." Flora looked away, her eyes surveying the room, and acting like they were discussing mundane things. The weather, fashions, food; but Samantha could see how deeply troubled she was.

While Samantha was certainly no fan of pleasing her own mother, she wondered if Flora stubbornness about Goran came from a similar place. The last time Samantha had mentioned him, Flora had stuck her tongue out in disgust, but she wondered if Flora would ever consider him. What if he grew to be a handsome man? He was no scholar, but he wasn't a slouch, either. It was unfortunate, because he wasn't like everyone thought he was.

Normally, she would never press her friend over matters of the heart - Flora was as secretive as a sealed envelope - but the wine and her friend's distress made her wonder... Samantha asked, "Since my sixteenth name day, have you spoken to Goran?"

"_Hessarian_'_s Poisoned Spear_! No!" Flora nearly dropped her wine glass. "I would sooner speak to an elf."

Samantha shook her head, chuckling softly. "You might give him another shot. He's not so—"

"Don't even say it." Flora cut her off, her eyes closed in obstinacy. "Goran is a fool. A dim-witted, clumsy, fat fool. I swear to Andraste, sitting beside the Maker himself, I am not interested in Goran, and I never will be. Ever."

"Well," Samantha said reproachfully. "That was dramatic."

"Obviously, you can't tell Corbinian I said that."

"I won't breathe a word," Samantha promised ruefully.

"Breathe a word about what?" Corbinian's jovial voice floated over their heads from behind, and Flora jumped.

"Maker's breath!" She exhaled loudly. "You're always sneaking up on us!"

When Samantha turned around, she was a little taken aback. He was dressed in a very formal suit; pitch black with the Starkhaven Royal Seal on the lapel, but his vest was gold, just like her dress. He gave her one of his smiles, the kind that was meant to disarm and it always worked.

In one of his hands, he held two glasses of champagne, which he handed over. "It's a talent. I could teach it to Goran if you like."

"And I could kick you in the shins if you like." Flora smiled sweetly.

Corbinian smirked at Flora, but reached for Samantha's hand in a gentlemanly greeting. "Nice necklace."

"Nice vest."

"Your mother," he explained, rubbing his forefinger against the fabric of his tunic. "She wanted us to match."

"Matching is her hobby." She was a little distracted by his hair, remembering the way it felt underneath her hands only a few days prior.

"Aside from enjoying celebrity," Flora added while waving to Lady Mayweather, who was watching the trio with a large group of noblewomen surrounding her. "Beenie, you've created a monster."

"If that's a monster, then this night will likely create an archdemon." Corbinian tossed back his champagne and winked at Samantha.

She could have snuck him away right then; they had been together half a dozen times since, and each time was more satisfying than the last. There was something extremely sensual about standing near him in a crowded room, looking into his eyes, and seeing that he was thinking of her intimately. It was their secret. The latest in a lifetime.

"That title might be reserved for another. I thought _this_ was going to make her head explode." Flora pointed to the locket around Samantha's neck. "Aside from not being invited to your little soirée where you made your…" She waved her hand around between them. "…_arrangement_ official."

Samantha laughed. "And thank the Maker for that! It was weird enough having twelve people in a room planning how many babies I'm going to have."

"If I remember correctly, they're all going to be boys," Corbinian added thoughtfully.

Flora nearly spit up her drink as she laughed, and Samantha looked to her plaintively. "You sure you won't consider Goran? I mean, look at how appealing the whole process is!"

Flora rolled her eyes, taking a long drink. "So now that you've got the details sorted, when's the announcement?"

Corbinian smiled mischievously and Samantha gave a playful shrug. "My father is probably courting offer sheets in his off-time. I'm quite the prize, you know. Not everyone can produce only sons."

Flora finally smiled at the pair, but then her eyes got caught over Samantha's shoulder. Standing near the Harimanns' table, her brother Ruxton and her father were chatting up a storm with, of all people, Goran Vael. The conversation seemed quite serious.

"Oh for the love of Andraste! Excuse me." Flora walked off in the direction of Benjamin Garrity, who was glowering at Arianna.

"Where is she going?" Corbinian asked, but Samantha just shrugged, alternating her attention between Flora and Lord Harimann.

When Flora arrived at Benjamin, she slipped her arm in his, laughing like he had just said the most amusing thing ever. Benjamin smiled back crookedly, a little perplexed at her sudden affection, but Samantha and Corbinian understood. They recognized the looks on Goran's and Lord Harimann's faces when they spotted Flora's gaiety with another. It was obvious that she was trying to show interest in someone else, to suggest she had no interest in Goran.

"Lucky for me you weren't so difficult." Corbinian ran the back of his forefinger down the back of Samantha's neck, sending shivers down her spine.

She whirled around, grinning happily. "Beenie! You naughty boy…"

And then the gong sounded, loud and echoing, which made everyone in the room start; all two hundred of them.

"Ladies and Gentleman…" Prince Vael's voice commanded the room's attention, and he always got whatever he commanded. "Thank you for coming. It is my honor to host the citizens of Starkhaven on this momentous occasion. It is also my honor to swear the son of my brother, my nephew, Marquess Corbinian Vael, into the service of our great city with the Oath of Starkhaven, which he will heed all his life, and is only breakable by death." All eyes turned back to Corbinian who was dutifully watching his uncle speak, with Samantha at his side, trying very hard to look perfunctory.

Corbinian turned to Samantha, lifting the back of her hand to his lips, and he winked at her before he left her there, casually making his way to the stage where the Prince of Starkhaven waited with the Grand Cleric, the First Enchanter, and the Knight Commander all lined up in a row. At their meeting, he shook his uncle's hand as the royal flag of Starkhaven dropped down from the ceiling behind them.

A hush came over the room when Corbinian dropped to his knee, and someone appeared behind the prince, handing him a sword with a sash of red silk wrapped around the hilt. The prince gripped the hilt with one hand and pulled the blade from the scabbard, its brilliance shimmering under the light. Obviously enhanced with magic – for magic is meant to serve man – the sword had been especially forged for Corbinian to be wielded in defense of Starkhaven. The prince flipped the sword around and brought it down into the stage, the point sticking easily into the wood directly between them, the prince standing above, and Corbinian kneeling below.

The prince said loudly, "You wish to swear the Oath of Starkhaven?"

"Yes, Your Highness," Corbinian said automatically.

"Then rise and make your pledge."

Corbinian stood up tall, the same height as the prince. He spoke carefully. "I hereby declare, on oath, that I absolutely and entirely give my life to the citizens and the city of Starkhaven; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; that I will bear arms on behalf of the city of Starkhaven when necessary and without reservation; that I will perform work of importance under Chantry direction when required by the law; that my life will not supersede the welfare of Starkhaven; that my death is the only release from this oath; and that I take this obligation freely without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion. May the Maker hear my oath and swear me to fealty."

"You are so sworn," the Grand Cleric said.

"You are so sworn," the Knight Commander said.

"You are so sworn," The First Enchanter said.

The prince extended his hand. "You are so sworn."

Corbinian smiled, wide and proud as he accepted the prince's hand. He then grasped the sword's hilt, yanking it from the stage and lifted it above his head. The crowd of nobles cheered, some even whistled and whooped their celebration and approval, and Samantha spied Corbinian's father, who was standing in the crowd swelling with pride.

Corbinian fastened the sword around his waist with the silk sash – it was his sword now – and then shook hands with all of Starkhaven's leaders – even the Knight Commander. After a wave to the crowd, he turned and jumped down from the stage, walking straight to Samantha who had moved to somewhere near the middle, but the orchestra didn't start playing and the people started to murmur as if they didn't understand what was happening next. Maybe it had been too long since the Oath was taken – was there another layer of ceremony? However, it quickly became clear just what was happening, because a small clearing formed around Corbinian and Samantha when he knelt down in front of her.

She suddenly felt a little lightheaded and her mind started to race, doubling over on itself, thinking of her parents and the Vaels and nothing but sons and for a moment she wondered if she would faint. But Corbinian had her hands which fit perfectly within his, and he was smiling when he reached into his pocket – his pockets again! – and then he pulled out a small box. Another small box. It was at that moment that everyone in the room seemed to understand what was coming next.

She should have seen this coming – there _was_ an arrangement made after all. For some reason, she had never expected it would be like this, in front of everyone, on this night which was supposed to be in celebration of Corbinian. Looking into his eyes, she now understood why he had chosen this night. It was clear that he was enjoying her reaction – and he was still a cheeky bastard.

"Samantha Mayweather," he started, opening up the box to reveal a ring, extravagant yet not gaudy: it was a band of diamonds, pristine and clear, a wheel of decadence that he slipped onto her finger. "The Chant of Light says that we are all the work of the Maker's hand, but when he made me, he made me for you, and when he made you, he made you for me."

If she had wondered what could upstage the Oath of Starkhaven, well, this was apparently it, because some of the noblewomen in the crowd gasped. One even fainted.

His eyes were smiling, as if he knew how this was playing out around the room. "It would be my honor if, on this night, you would agree to marry me."

It was one of those storybook moments, one the bards would sing about if they ever told this story, because the crowd fell utterly silent, standing on the tips of their toes, leaning into the intimacy, waiting for the answer that everyone knew was coming. When she gave her assent, quietly, and nodding for her voice couldn't sustain much in the gravity of the occassion, he rose up and kissed her on the cheek while the symphony added to the ambiance. The voices rose in appreciation and Samantha's father and mother were there in an instant, shaking hands and giving hugs, and then Corbinian's family took their turns and Samantha wished that Innley were there to celebrate as well.

The pair was joined for the rest of the evening, mostly dancing, as that was really the only time they weren't shaking hands or suffering hugs and kisses from their respective new families.

Corbinian pressed the opportunity for all he could, their bodies almost touching, his palms spread wide on her back, the tips of his fingers between the laces of her dress, brushing her bare skin.

"Have I told you that you look lovely?" he asked quietly.

"Wait until you see what else I am wearing…"

Corbinian smiled with an eyeful of secrets. "Well, aren't we both just full of surprises today."

"I think yours outdo mine." She was certain that he could feel her breathing.

"I'll be the judge of that. Might be determinant on the color."

She didn't hesitate when she said, "Red."

He didn't blink, but his fingers moved across her skin as he exhaled a whisper, "I want to do undo these laces."

She didn't blink either, running her fingers through the edge of his hairline. "Right here? With everyone watching?"

"There are other places than here."

Samantha sucked on her bottom lip. "And what would we do in these _other places_?"

He kept his expression controlled but his eyes glanced down the length of her dress, and she imagined he was envisioning what was beneath. "I would kiss your lips, and your neck, and then I would pull down your dress…" His voice lowered to a hush. "…and keep going…"

It was like they were making love right there on the dance floor as her body reacted to his sensual words and simple movements, and for just a moment, she had to close her eyes.

"Did you have someplace in mind?" she whispered.

"Follow my lead," he whispered back.

He kept his fingers on her back as he led her across the room to the bar where they both took a glass of wine and smiled at guests, though she was certain her face was flushed. She noted that his ears were flushed, but tried not to look or smile about it. He then excused himself, disappearing for a few moments before the symphony stopped and started again, this time playing a very popular song that inspired everyone to move to the dance floor in groups. The clapping started, hands in the air, and it was the perfect cover for the couple to find their escape.

Better than an Antivan Crow, Corbinian slipped them both out of the ballroom without notice, leading her through a series of hallways, each darker than the last, until they finally went through a single door into a darkened room – the spare library. No sooner had he softly closed the door and turned the lock, than he pressed Samantha back up against the bookcase.

His mouth came to hers and she removed his jacket from his shoulders, allowing it to fall to the floor at their feet as his hands worked their way to the silk laces on her back. She untied the sash around his waist, and his new sword sheathed inside the scabbard fell against the bookcase with a thud as the stale air slipped into her dress at her own laces loosening. Warm and welcome, his breath greeted her neck when the first boom sounded.

Neither seemed to hear it as she fumbled with his vest, and his hands moved around her waist. Sightlessly, she unclasped his belt as he lowered her dress to her ankles just before the second boom sounded, muffled and far away and she mumbled, "Are those fireworks?"

"Mmm," he hummed into her neck, one of his hands holding her steady and the other on her hip, a finger finding the space between her hipbone and her red underwear.

And that's when they heard the scream.

They stopped in an instant, a bit breathless and confused and he looked at her before they both caught the flashes out of the window. That was when the third boom sounded and they could see far off into the distance a great fireball erupt from the roof of the Starkhaven Circle.

Samantha was stunned into wide-eyed silence as they stared out of the window, their bodies together but the fires between them quickly doused by the flames that licked the sky.

After a moment, Corbinian whispered, "I have to go."

"What?" She turned to see a faraway look in his eyes.

"I have to go," he said a bit more resolutely. "I took the Oath. I have to go."

"But… Beenie…?" She suddenly felt very afraid as he pulled up his pants, refastening his belt buckle with deft hands. She gasped out the word _wait_; things were moving too quickly! He was going where? To the Circle? To the fireball? What was he walking into?

"Don't worry." He spun around to find his jacket, his mind clearly elsewhere now, shrugging the garment onto his shoulders, refastening his sword back onto his belt, but he turned back to see her still unclothed, frightened and overwhelmed against the bookcase. He lifted her dress back up over her body, retying her laces, and she shivered, glancing between him and the Circle through the window where a thick funnel of black smoke was now rising.

He gently took her shoulders. "Wait for me here. At the palace." But she was staring out the window, where the white Circle Tower looked black against a dark sky— "Hey!" He got her attention, forcing her to look directly into his eyes, even as her own brimmed with frightened tears. "I love you, Sammie."

"I love you, Beenie."

And then he was gone.

She didn't know what to do or where to go. She was alone in a small library, and she had to gather herself together to rejoin the revelers, who all had surely been alerted to the explosion at the Circle. _An explosion! Just like Adain!_ Fear stretched through her like new bones and she didn't want to be alone. Brushing the wet from her eyes and smoothing over her dress, she exited the hallway into a river of citizens who were rushing in every direction. She wanted her father, she wanted Flora – she would have settled for anyone familiar. Who she ran into was Vincent.

"Have you seen my parents?" Samantha asked him.

"No – have you seen mine?"

She shook her head.

"Do you know what's happening?"

"There was an explosion at the Circle," she said, and his expression changed to horror. "I saw a great fireball erupt from the spire."

"The Knight Commander ran out of the party faster than I've seen anyone ever run," he said. "The Grand Cleric and First Enchanter have been taken into protective custody."

"Maker's breath…!"

Flora nearly crashed into her then, breathless and relieved. "Sammie! Thank the Maker!"

They heard some yelling from the ballroom, and Flora tugged on Samantha's arm.

"Ladies! Gentleman!" The yelling continued and the trio squeezed their way through dozens of shoulders into the ballroom. An unfamiliar voice carried through. "The palace is open to you! The Chapel, the sitting room, the library – but you are not allowed to leave. There has been incident at the Circle, and while the guard and Templars get the situation under control, we ask that you stay here and stay calm!"

An incident? That great big fireball didn't look like an incident – it looked like a catastrophe. Murmurs of disapproval erupted throughout the crowd, through Samantha couldn't tell what they were saying.

"That's probably best," Vincent said nervously. "There's no safer place in Starkhaven than the royal palace."

"I need to find my father," Samantha said.

Flora gripped her arm. "We'll find him."

"We'll stay together." Samantha placed her hands in Flora's, and didn't let go.

"I'll escort you." Vincent reached for both of their hands, and they grasped his, grateful for his decisive presence.

Though the palace gates and doors were all locked and under strict guard, all of the lounges and bedrooms were open to anyone who should need to lie down, libraries and studies were available for those wish to distract themselves, and the Chapel was open to all who wanted to pray. That was where Vincent escorted Flora and Samantha, and the latter pair huddled up next to Samantha's father who had his arm around his wife. Lady Mayweather was praying. For some reason, being near her parents made Samantha feel somewhat better, but her nerves were still wrecked.

All she could think of was Corbinian, donning his shining golden armor, drawing his marvelous new sword, charging through the Circle's marble library, descending the spiral to his bloody and gruesome death at the hands of maleficarum. These thoughts were only interspersed with similar thoughts of Innley who would surely join the fight against any renegade mages. Maybe Innley and Corbinian would work together? Or maybe it wasn't renegade mages, maybe it was just a Harrowing gone horribly wrong. Or maybe it was one mage trying to escape, or a small group. Maybe it wasn't as bad as it seemed, but the random explosions that sent sonic waves across the city made everyone jump like some choreographed seizure and the longer everyone waited for word to come back that the Circle was under control, the worse Samantha's imagination got.

She had read about demons. She had read about corrupt mages. The books described them as vicious, devoid of emotion with no respect for life. Demons turned a mage into a heartless killing machine that moved without provocation and felt no remorse for what it did.

Brett and his wife, Ruxton, and the Lord and Lady Harimann entered the Chapel a little while later. The foursome looked quite stoic. Lord Harimann was trying to comfort his wife but her eyes were distant, and Samantha imagined that she was in shock, like so many others. She turned a set of eyes to the Mayweathers, finding Flora in relief.

"Be right back," Flora whispered, rising to greet her family.

More people came and went, prayers were whispered, candles were lit, and weeping women were removed and then returned. The Luxleys came into the Chapel at some point, surveying the faces probably looking for Helena, and from across the room Samantha and Flora exchanged a nervous glance.

At one point, Arianna sat down in the pew next to Samantha, reaching for her hand in fear.

"Why did I wear this?" Arianna whispered. That dress stuck to her body leaving little to the imagination. "I can barely move."

Samantha gripped her friend's hand. "Your dress is very… avant-garde."

Arianna gave an anxious laugh. "Everyone in Orlais is wearing this!" She looked like she might cry, and as she shifted her legs to cross one over the other, the slit up the side of the dress to her thigh was not only risqué, but downright shameless.

"I'm not sure if that trend will catch on here in Starkhaven."

"I wore it for Benji," she admitted. "_Scemo_ plays with me for two years, and I wanted him to see what he was missing."

Ah! So that's why she was dressed like a witch – she was enchanting young Benjamin with jealousy. Such were the games of the daughters and sons of Starkhaven's upper class. Samantha was glad she didn't have to play, for Corbinian's warmth had never dimmed. Like Sebastian, many thought him a scoundrel like all the rest, but his affection for Samantha since his return from Nevarra City had been unwavering, and it seemed as if everyone saw it. When it came to royalty and relationships, most agreed that when a Vael pledged his heart to someone, that someone was a Vael.

"I can't sit here," Arianna whispered restlessly, rising from the pew and exiting the Chapel in haste.

Samantha's parents left the chapel; her mother apparently thought it was her duty to comfort the women of Starkhaven, like the women of the royal family had been doing. The Duchess was patting Lord Kendall's hand, and he seemed confused but relaxed. A man in a long robe with the royal seal of Starkhaven was at his side, listening to his heart through a tube. Samantha tried to imagine what it was like to be old, to live long enough to see everyone she loved die.

Not wanting to be alone, she moved to her best friend, Flora, who gripped Samantha's hand tight. "I should be out there," Flora whispered. "I could help."

"They are mages!" Samantha was truly afraid; she had never felt this kind of fear before and all those stories of Adain that her father had told her about were bubbling on the surface of her memory. "Arrows cannot fight magic."

"Arrows can kill mages and demons just like any other."

"But…" This made no sense to Samantha. Flora was a noble's daughter. Noble's daughters did not don armor and join the fighting unless they reject their family's wealth and nobility and opted instead to join the Royal Army or become Templars or something. And Flora had always made her archery sound like a hobby – not a skill that she would employ to kill people.

"Don't be so old fashioned, Sammie." Flora scolded in a hushed voice. "During the war with the Qunari, nobles and peasants alike took up arms. During the second Blight—"

"Yes, yes, yes!" Samantha hissed; she knew all of this. "But this isn't a Blight and we're not being invaded by murderous heretical giants! These are mages! You may be accustomed to fighting people, but it takes an altogether different kind of method to fight against magic."

Flora thought about that. "Perhaps you're right. Perhaps I need to work on that."

Flora's stubbornness reared itself, and if Samantha thought her friend was in a bad mood before, she was now disagreeable to a fault. Samantha couldn't believe that Flora was considering this life, but there was no more time to discuss it as Lady Luxley burst into the room, weeping hysterically. Black streaks of makeup ran from her eyes down her cheeks as she collapsed into a pew, her shoulders shaking powerfully. Two women rushed to her side: Lady Tyler, Vincent's mother, and Lady Mayweather. Flora and Samantha sat by helplessly watching her mother whisper words of comfort. When she looked up and saw her daughter, she headed over.

"They found Helena inside the Circle," she whispered gently and Samantha's limbs went limp, feeling her friend grip her hands. "She's gone, darling."

Lady Luxley wailed, cutting into the silence that now seemed louder than her cries of sorrow. Helena… was dead? But before that news could be absorbed, Arianna Marziano burst back into the room.

"_E' finita_!" she announced through thick Antivan tears of joy before she turned and shimmied down the royal hallway, calling out as she went, "_E' finita_!"

_It's over?_

Samantha's mother let her go as she knelt by Lady Luxley, attending to her presupposed civic duty. Samantha and Flora numbly left the Chapel and into a hastening tide of people, a mass of bodies with some kind of collective consciousness that had them moving towards the front doors of the palace, leading into the courtyard protected by those impenetrable steel gates, which were now open.

The Lords and Ladies of Starkhaven were going home. Many were going to see about those smaller children who were too young to go to the party and had been left behind. Others were concerned about the status of their estates and whether their homes were still standing. Some were heading to the chantry to pray. Most were just exhausted.

There was a group returning as hers was exiting the palace. It was like a school of fish meeting another as the people weaved together in opposition. The men returning were members of the Royal Army, captains and lieutenants most likely returning to report to the prince of Starkhaven instead of heading back to the barracks. Some families that had stayed behind were asking about children that they had once known that had been sent to the Circle, but Samantha's parents wouldn't do that. She knew she would have to discover Innley's fate on her own.

She spotted the First Enchanter, Raddick, and the Grand Cleric, Francesca, both escorted by Templars and likely heading to the Circle to evaluate the damage. But Samantha was terrified as each haggard face that passed was not Corbinian's.

"Maybe he's already inside," Flora suggested hopefully, but they both knew he was not.

The air was thick was smoke, even this far away from the Circle, and with that smoke brought horrible odors: burnt wood, dirt, dust from stone, blood, and charred meat. She stopped in the center of the courtyard as the crowd thinned. Flora gripped her hand as they stood together, the dread settling into her empty stomach as the moments passed and now it was just a few men who were trickling through the gate.

Her knees began to wobble, and she fleetingly entertained the nightmare that he would never return, and she would stand there in the smoky clearing waiting forever. She would look out windows pensively, she would dream of him, she would weep terribly – a life without him, terrifying and horrible... but that was when he limped through the gate.

He was covered nearly head-to-foot in soot. His face was caked in it, his hair stuck up in damp directions, and yet those marvelous blue eyes shone out from somewhere underneath like beacons of light. His scratched-up golden armor was nearly black as well, and his helmet was missing. She let out a cry of distress, letting Flora go as she ran to him, consumed with relief, fear, and hope, and when he saw her, he stopped in his tracks and let her crash into him, the soot and the dirt transferred to her as he wrapped his armored arms around her, sinking into her embrace as if he had dragged himself back from that tower for this moment alone.

"I thought I'd lost you," she whispered.

"It'll take more than that to kill me." He sounded exhausted and his eyes were fighting to stay open.

"Are you injured?" She pulled back running her hands over his blackened armor creating long streaks in the muck, which now covered her golden dress as well.

"No," he said breathlessly, but then he winced, dropping to a knee. "Well, not terribly."

"_We need a healer_!" Flora shouted as loudly as she could, scampering off to find a mage.

Samantha didn't care if it was true or not, and barely a moment passed before a man in a robe appeared, helping Corbinian out of his breastplate. He winced again when he had to lift his arms up. There was a blackened patch on his tunic against the right side around his ribs, and when cut back revealed a horrible burn. To Samantha, it looked like he had been branded with unreadable iron.

"Oooh." Corbinian got a look at it for the first time and he almost laughed. "That's hideous."

"What happened?" Samantha knelt down beside him.

"Looks like a fireball. You're lucky," the man in the robe said as he laid his hands a few inches away from the wound, and they started to glow blue.

_Magic!_ Samantha wanted to scream at this now-real and terrifying enemy, thinking maybe the mage was harming him but, after a second, she realized that he was doing just the opposite, because Corbinian let out a moan of relief, his arm suddenly heavy across Samantha's shoulders. And then Corbinian did something somewhat shocking if not for the fact that she was so terribly relieved he was alive: he turned and kissed her, right on the lips.

They didn't notice the man in the robe walk away, nor if Flora had returned, because Corbinian and Samantha became the only people in the war-torn world, with the dirt beneath their knees, the smell of death in the air, and the Maker's stars twinkling through the wind-strewn smoke, high in the sky.


	12. 9:27 Dragon, Autumn

**9:27 Dragon, Autumn**

"Isolationism harms us all," Grand Cleric Francesca's sermon began."These mages believe that they would function better as a collective living on their own: ungoverned, unattended, the doorway to the Fade unguarded. Apostates who study magic without regulation."

In the months that followed, details began to emerge about what had happened at the Circle. Those responsible were believed to be a small group of mages belonging to one of the larger fraternities: the Isolationists. For those outside the tower, blame seemed easy to assign.

The Grand Cleric continued: "Starkhaven has seen firsthand the ravages of ungoverned magic. It wasn't that long ago that our city suffered at the hands of a rogue apostate." She took a breath and grandly announced: "Adain believed in Isolationism."

Once Samantha heard his name, she knew exactly how the offending mages would be treated. Adain had left a lasting impression on the Circle, the Chantry, and the citizens of the city. No mage that seemed even remotely like him was going to be given any kind of freedom, least of all the kind that might allow for further subversion against the establishment.

"Mages cannot govern themselves." Francesca's voice carried through the room, to the high ceilings, to the pillars, and to the towering statue of Andraste that stood guardian behind her. "We speak of Tevinter too often, but what has happened there will happen here if we stand by and do nothing to safeguard the mages from themselves."

Corbinian and Samantha sat together at service now, with their families at either side. This was customary in Starkhaven, now that their connection had been made public. Despite the tragedy that night, their engagement had been celebrated as the event of the season. There were some who said that not even a Circle rebellion could prevent Samantha and Corbinian from getting married, as though their joining was the Maker's will.

Scheduling the wedding was one long compromise. Samantha's mother hated the autumn and Corbinian's mother hated the summer. Spring was awfully traditional, everyone agreed, but winter was too cold, and so the wedding was set for forty-five days after the spring equinox in 9:31 Dragon – a three-year engagement. Such long engagements were common, if not encouraged. Traditionally, the longer the engagement the happier the marriage, but, truthfully, the people of Starkhaven just liked to celebrate, and Samantha would have many parties thrown in her honor by dozens of families over the next three years.

She just wished Innley could be part of it.

"I understand that many of us know someone in the Circle." Francesca's voice was gentle. "A friend. A daughter. A father. But we must understand _what they are_. A child who has been bewitched could easily become an assassin, whether she intends to kill or not. The mages are good men and women, more often than not honorable and kind. They don't _want_ to harm anyone. It's the demons from the Fade that reach across the Veil and sink their claws deep even as we wrap our arms around them in camaraderie. We must never let go, lest they be taken from us."

That sort of argument resonated with the nobles of Starkhaven, even though most didn't personally know any mages, and had learned everything they knew about magic and the Fade from the Chantry, and never asked questions. Samantha wondered if they were willfully ignorant or just obtuse.

Whatever it was, it seemed to clear to Samantha and Corbinian that the Chantry was trying to keep the people from knowing just what happened that night. Perhaps it was too much like what happened with Adain, and the Chantry didn't want to scare the populace. Or worse, reveal they didn't have control.

Samantha thought of her brother often, for she no longer had the opportunity to see him. The Circle was on lockdown, and all contact was strictly forbidden. Sers Traven and Langley, who had both been so amenable before, were now hardened jailors, convinced that they had committed a grave sin against the Maker for allowing Corbinian and Samantha access to the Circle in the first place. They wouldn't admit to it, but Corbinian had discovered that Innley's fraternity was involved in whatever had happened – the details were closely guarded secrets. Corbinian never saw him that night in the Circle Tower, either. Was he back in the dungeons? Had he helped fight for the Circle or the rebellion? Was he still Innley or had he become maleficar?

Francesca turned her eyes downward to the front pews. "The Knight Commander's investigation into that night is still ongoing, but we know that it was only a small group of mages that attempted escape. Now, I understand many of you are anxious, confused, and perhaps afraid. There is no cause for alarm. We are taking every precaution and the Circle of Magi is cooperating – they wish for the culprits to be brought to justice. The Circle is their home."

Details of the explosion had been given only during service and always in the form of an argument such as this one. While there was no disputing the logic – magic _was_ dangerous – the simple fact that the Circle was still locked down after four months was enough to raise suspicion. Worse than that were the sparse details about Helena's death. She had told Flora in private that she was dating a Templar, but she never gave a name nor did she elaborate on his looks or his family. Such behavior was uncommon, and the fact that she never provided this information suggested that perhaps she was lying. Helena had never been known for her skill at deception, having never even convinced anyone that she was interested in Vincent Tyler.

"But do not fret," Francesca said soothingly. "For the Maker's light will always illuminate the way to our recovery. We must show him that we are _one_ people. Nobles, commoners, mages, Templars – we are in this together, and we will get through this together."

There was a collective sigh of relaxation as everyone seemed comforted by Francesca's words, and Samantha had to admit that she was quite reassuring. But Grand Clerics were like that.

Corbinian rose once the singing was over, stretching his neck. "Well, one lecture down. About a billion to go."

"If not for the service, service days would be wonderful." Samantha watched the Grand Cleric greet her mother with a soft smile, and she tugged on Corbinian's sleeve. "Now might be our chance…"

Corbinian watched his father shake hands with the Knight Commander. "Let's get out of here."

Service days were the only days when she got to be with Corbinian alone for any length of time. During the week, she was attending to her studies, visiting with nobles around town, watching Flora ride, or watching Corbinian practice. It had taken less than a month before he was practicing at full speed with his new sword, which he had named _One-Cut,_ "because that's all it takes," he had said cockily. The priests had called him a fast healer, but Samantha figured it was just Corbinian; back in the saddle no matter how far the fall.

They spotted a group heading through the massive Chantry doors, and they slipped into the crowd hoping for once to blend in and go unnoticed as they made their escape, but it didn't work. Someone recognized Corbinian, and the man ushered himself so far out of the way that one might assume the marquess had the plague. Samantha knew the man was trying to be cordial, but did he have to be so flamboyant about it?

"Make way!" The man called. "Make way for the Marquess!"

This sort of behavior had become commonplace since Corbinian had taken the Oath, and while Samantha knew that many people treated royalty this way, she wasn't used to it and wasn't sure if she ever would be. Arianna thought it hysterical. She liked to toy with people about it, making grand statements about what Samantha liked, no matter if it were true, just to see how people would react. Truthfully, Samantha felt like a thing sometimes, shuffled around, presented here, showed off there, rarely asked to speak but always expected to be gracious.

"Thank you, my good man." Corbinian smiled famously.

"Takin' the lovely betrothed on a walk, ser?" The man asked genially.

"Not today; I figure I should try to knock her up. I hear she gives nothing but sons! Good day to you!"

A perplexed expression crossed the man's face and several others nearby paused; the lot of them grouped together to whisper about what they thought they had just heard, and if they had actually heard it.

Samantha was too shocked to laugh as he pulled her along. "I can't _believe_ you just said that."

"Oh, you really wanted to go for a walk, then?"

"Cad!" She chuckled, but a survey of their path led her to believe they weren't heading to the royal palace. She was about to ask where they were going until he turned them onto a very familiar street. "Are we going to my estate?"

"We never visit your gardens," he replied. "We always go to mine, which are now open to the public."

He emphasized that last bit, and she grinned to herself; he wished for privacy, and funnily enough, they would find it at her estate. Her parents wouldn't be home for hours, visiting the Vaels, the other nobles, discussing the upcoming nuptials and appropriate gifts – even though the wedding was so far into the future, it felt like another Age.

One really nice thing about being engaged to a Vael was that the guards didn't ask too many questions, and the pair they passed on the way to her estate just nodded and smiled. With the mess at the Circle, there was also a greater Templar presence around town. The guards in Granite Circle were pleasant, but Samantha had heard rumors about their behavior in the Elven Alienage and Hyrian's Point, the poorest part of Starkhaven so named for the prince whose generous donations to the Chantry had expanded social services to the poor.

Once they arrived to her estate, they breezed through the front doors, the servants scurrying after the Marquess in haste, offering him anything and everything for they were so sorry they hadn't anticipated his visit! He tried to placate their worry, but they were inconsolable as they tittered nervously, finally calming when Samantha promised not to tell anyone if they didn't.

Breaking back into autumn's early afternoon, the Mayweather Estate's gardens were falling into a green death, for the flowers had withered away months ago. Walking through the dying shrubs, it felt good to finally be alone, and Corbinian reached playfully down to her ankles, snapping off her shoes and waving them over his head. She laughed, giving chase through the gardens.

They had perfected the art of finding privacy, a luxury for them both. But on this sunny afternoon, they headed to the very edge of the gardens where a short shrub-like tree tore violently upwards through the earth. It was just starting to lose its leaves.

"My mother hates this," Samantha said of the tree.

"I can smell why…" Corbinian pinched his nose. The tree gave off a most displeasing odor that closely resembled rotting nuts.

Samantha pulled a leaf from a branch; the long scissor-like blade was stiff as card. "It's a Tree of Heaven. Also known, rather ironically, as a _demon's tree_."

"_This_ is a demon's tree?" He cocked his head to the side. "Isn't it supposed to be taller?"

"It would be if my mother didn't send servants out three times a year to destroy it." Samantha tossed the leaf to the ground, looking back to the tree in admiration. "But always it comes back, more wild than ever."

Corbinian closed his eyes briefly, and took a step back from the shrub. "Aside from the… delightful smell… why do they call it a demon's tree?"

She gestured to the nearby plant-life, of which there was none. "Because it will kill anything in its way to grow. It taints everything it touches with a foul stench, and if you try to cut it back, it will grow three branches for every one you shear."

"Aptly named."

Samantha lowered herself to the grass, stretching through the branches and pulling them aside to see the fence to the Tylers' estate, a fine wood turned grey with rain and age. Reaching down further, she brushed away the dirt to reveal her name crudely carved into the fence, and below that, Innley's.

Corbinian smiled at the etchings.

Samantha said, "Sometimes, I wonder if she'll ever rid the garden of it and see Innley's name there…"

"What would she do?"

"Probably pull up the fence. Burn the wood. Just like Ser Traven tore up the letter that I wrote to my brother." Samantha brushed the dirt from her hands, standing back up with a huff. "Right in front of me, too!"

"Bastard," Corbinian answered quickly, adding wryly: "Want me to have him executed?"

"A kind offer, but that wouldn't solve the problem."

"Langley and Traven won't let me see him either. They claim he's there, though." And then added, for the fiftieth time that year, "I wish I would have found him in there."

Samantha scowled in frustration. "I hope they're wrong about my brother. And I hope they live long enough to see it. And I hope we get to be there when they learn how wrong they are."

"No wishing for their swords to rust? Their milk to turn sour? What about the sweating sickness?"

"Those are kind of harsh, Beenie."

He lifted his palms up, as if weighing the options. "Being wrong. Sweating sickness… it's a tough call for me."

She chuckled softly, leading him away from the stinky tree, and into a sunny patch of cool grass where they both relaxed, closing their eyes in the Maker's bright light. Samantha asked, "Why do the mages hate the Circle? Sure, it's kind of dreary, but is it really that bad?"

"It's only bad for those mages who fight it." He shook his head. "I know the First Enchanter and Grand Cleric might be willing to overlook anything Innley was involved in, because he's young and impressionable, but the Knight Commander is caustic. I have no idea what he thinks."

Corbinian had finally met the Knight Commander, introduced as the Marquess and a lieutenant in his full Royal Army regalia. They had met with the Captain of the Army and the Knight Captains of the Templar Order to discuss Starkhaven security, which seemed to be another word of prowling the streets and accosting people.

She gazed into the cloudless sky, a pale blue expanse without a beginning or an end. "I hope his friends haven't poisoned Innley. What was his name? You know, the older man who Innley named his mentor?"

"Decimus."

"Right. He seemed creepy."

"Was it the beard, the unkempt hair, or that demented look in his eye?" He joked. "For me, it was the dress, but they all wear dresses so it's hard to tell."

She shifted against his shoulder; the immense blue of the cloudless and vast unknowable sky mimicked her feelings about Innley and his future. "Maybe this is just a phase or something."

"I'm just glad they locked that Decimus guy up."

"I worry about that, though," She said thoughtfully. "Historically, when someone is locked up, it has created stronger feelings of sedition. If he ever gets out—"

"He won't." He seemed so certain.

"But if he does—"

"Then they'll kill him or make him Tranquil," he said frankly.

Samantha shuddered. "They could make Innley tranquil. We would never know."

His silence suggested that he hadn't considered that idea until that very moment. They both knew the Rite of Tranquility was a necessary evil, to protect mages who could not protect themselves from the demons of the Fade. It was a kindness, everyone said so, but to imagine Innley that way, automatic and without feeling… It seemed wrong.

A cicada began to chirp at regular intervals nearby, arresting the pair from their thoughts.

Corbinian said, "I'll find out, okay? Don't think about it. There's nothing either of us can do right now, so there's no point in making ourselves sick with worry."

She took a breath. "Okay."

He stretched his arms out, lacing his fingers behind his head as he reclined in the grass. "Have you spoken to Flora?"

"No." She angled her head to look over at him. "Why?"

Corbinian scrunched his nose. "I don't know. I thought I heard my uncle say something about her mother."

Samantha remembered her conversation with Flora at Corbinian's name day celebration, and how troubled her friend seemed at her mother's near-obsessive attention on Goran Vael. If the prince had mentioned Lady Johane… Her nerves turned through her stomach like a spawn of butterflies, and she knew that nothing good could come from the unwanted attention of the prince.

She also remembered her promise not to say a word about Flora's feelings on Goran to Corbinian, who likely already knew.

"If Flora's mother has drawn the ire of the prince, she would tell me," Samantha stated with confidence, but then remembered how closely guarded all of her friend's secrets were.

He tilted in chin down, seemingly amused. "I hope you're right and that it's nothing. But do tell her that it doesn't help when her mother says subversive things about the prince at parties."

Samantha cracked a smile. "You mean that's not allowed?"

"Only the princess gets to say such things," he joked. "Everyone else gets exiled as a matter of policy."

"That would explain why everyone in Starkhaven loves him so!" She turned over and poked her finger in his ear, adding sarcastically, "When do you think he'll send her away? After the Harvest Festival, I hope, because it's too challenging to replace the decorating committee members this late in the season."

"I don't know." Corbinian playfully batted her fingers away. "They don't exile Haveners on a whim."

"Like they did with Sebastian?" She asked jovially.

"Yeah, but he could've…"

"Could've what?" Samantha lifted herself up, curious about how the conversation had suddenly turned serious. "Were you there when they exiled him? You said you saw him only briefly."

But Corbinian just blinked, as though she had caught him completely off guard, and he stumbled a little over his words. "I… It's hard to remember."

Samantha watched him carefully. "You've actually never talked about that night."

"Well, it's not a pleasant memory, my love." He smiled cheekily. "They were going to send me away, and then I'd never get a chance to do this…" He rolled over to her, burying his face into her neck and she shrieked in surprise.

"You're so secretive!"

"It's part of my charm." He leaned back, smiling that Vael smile. "Hey, I want to show you something."

"No, no, no, you're changing the sub—"

"Of course I am!" He laughed. "Trust me, Sammie. There's nothing interesting about exile. You go in front of the prince, you talk about what you did, and he decides. It's just that simple."

She made a face, certain that there was more to the story, but he just chuckled.

"Come on." He helped her up. "I really do want to show you something."

The sun was just arcing away from its zenith as he led her through from her gardens and onto the granite path, which felt pleasantly warm underneath her bare feet. The sunshine was still bright for the time of year, and the afternoon air had turned thick with autumn pollen as the flowers shed their final offering.

She had no idea where they going until they passed under the massive steel gates of the Royal Palace and started sneaking through the hallways, trying to remain unseen with Corbinian peeking around every corner.

"You have to talk the prince out of exiling you?" Samantha whispered, not wanting to let the matter go.

"That was my strategy," he whispered back to her. "I wasn't going to talk him _into_ it."

"What did Sebastian say?"

"The wrong things."

He turned the corner, and that was when she realized that they were entering the living quarters of his parents' wing of the Royal Palace. If he had intended to derail the conversation, it was an excellent maneuver to bring her here, because she was struck by the strangeness of this place. It took her a moment to understand why.

It was lived in. Private and personal with so many gifts from so many different people from so many different places. The corners of the furniture weren't as sharp, the rugs had indentations where feet had been, and the tapestries were half-pulled back, as though someone had just been in these rooms, looking out the windows. But most of all, it was the portraits that caught Samantha's attention.

Those that lined the walls in the hallway downstairs were nothing compared to the portraits that lined the walls of this wing. Swaths of brilliant color across canvas, velvet, parchment; details piled upon details, the paintings stretched on and on and all of them were of members of the royal family. Samantha couldn't help but linger as long as possible on the portraits of Corbinian. _Andraste in the heavens!_ The artists seemed to focus on capturing his eyes so absolutely that they were always the focus of each picture. Some portraits caught them with perfect realism while the rest of paintings were abstract or soft or crazy. They were so beautiful and Samantha couldn't help reaching out and touching some of them.

Corbinian just smiled at her, tugging on her hand and whispering for her follow.

When they rounded another corner, she realized that they were heading to his chambers. She had never questioned it, but she had never, not once, been inside his room. He had been to her room dozens of times and she had seen nearly every wing of the Royal Palace. Except this one. Never mind that he had seen her room on more occasions than she could count, but it would be improper on a scale of grand magnitude if she were caught in his room.

When they finally reached his chambers, she was a little surprised. The main color of his room was light blue. The comforter thrown across his bed was light blue, his walls were half-painted in this color and another darker blue, the rug in the center was a dark blue on top of what looked to be pine flooring. It was airy and comfortable, with light-colored wooden furniture, an armor stand, his sword mounted on the wall, and, of all things, a lute standing upright next to his bureau. There were so many questions and so she started with the most obvious.

"Blue…?" She turned her head to see him leaning against his bedroom door, which he had closed and latched.

"Blue." He smiled at her and she remembered their first night together in her room. The walls were the exact color of her underwear that night.

"When did you have this painted?"

"Oh… you know."

She blushed ridiculously. That he would paint his entire room in this color after that night, as if every time he walked into his room, every time he looked at the color of the walls, that he might think of that night and of her… it was so…

"I know, I know. It's so romantic."

"I was thinking it was… erotic."

He lifted an eyebrow but didn't move from the door. "Is that right? You know, I could paint another room…"

Her cheeks puffed out in a smile. "What's that over there?" She pointed to the lute.

"My new weapon of choice," he answered quickly, walking across the room to pick it up, sitting down in the chair next to it, but when he began to strum it was quite clear that he possessed a talent.

Samantha leaned up against one of the four bedpost to watch him play, and it was beautiful, the way his hand moved up and down the neck, the way his fingers plucked at the strings, the melodies and harmonies floating up and filling the air with emotion and dream and idea and for a moment, she was so moved that her eyes felt like they were floating and she forgot where she was and who she was with and was so deeply affected by so much, least of all that there were still things he could do and say that surprised her. Even after all this time.

When he stopped playing and looked up, his expression changed. "What's wrong?"

She shook her head, a little embarrassed. "Your weapon is quite effective."

He chuckled as he set the lute back down. "Had I known it would work, I would have tried that first before all that talking."

"Yes. All that talking was really obnoxious." She brushed her wet cheeks dry.

"Being obnoxious is part of the strategy." He stood up, sliding his hands into his pockets. "Do you like my room?"

His room now seemed more like home than her own room and she wanted to stay here. She wanted to live here, to be here with him every night and every day and so she said, "I want to sleep with you."

"Wow… this worked out better than I thought."

She laughed without being able to help it. "Beenie. _Sleep_. We've been together many times, but never fallen asleep."

"Well, that's an easy request." He moved around to the bed and pulled down the covers, kicking off his boots and unbuttoning his shirt, but she hadn't moved, nervous about getting caught in their underclothes. "Pretend sleep. Just for a short time before it's totally dark out and then I'll take you home. Here, I'll open the curtains so we can see when the sun sets."

She smiled, unbuttoning her dress. "Okay."

Once divested of their clothing, all that was left was their smallclothes and underwear, of which hers were far more intricate. They were blue and Corbinian smiled that they were the same color as the room, though they were not the same set she'd worn that first night. He held the covers open for her as she slid in next to him and he brought them down around them both, pulling her up close and resting his head on the pillow.

They were silent as they lay there, with one of his arms under her head and the other draped across her stomach and she pushed herself back up against him, feeling the length of his body against hers; quite longer and infinitely warmer.

"What is it with you?" she asked. "You're so warm. All the time."

"It's my wild passionate feelings for you, Sammie," he said quietly into her ear.

"Tell me more about these wild passionate feelings."

"Shh, I'm sleeping."

And it was a new experience for them both: stillness with tenderness, with their hands upon each other and their bodies so close, becoming something entirely new. Something more. And as the late afternoon sunshine stained the room gold, a memory formed with so many others, but it was here in this room which was just his room, and in this bed which was just his bed which would continue to smell like her long after she had gotten up, long after he had walked her home and long after he had returned to that bed that very night to go to sleep alone.


	13. 9:28 Dragon, Winter

**9:28 Dragon, Winter**

The South Gate of the Starkhaven Circle had a bronze plaque affixed to its white stone walls that read, _If I give you my hands and they burst into flame, do not jump, for the fear is what shall burn you._

Corbinian had been staring at it for five minutes as Ser Shay stood idly by, gazing up at him. She was short for a Templar, wide in the shoulders and the waist, and her chin slanted upwards as if a punch to the jaw had set her face. Samantha couldn't help but stare at the gap between her two front teeth when she spoke.

"Not long now," Ser Shay said for the fourth time. By her accent, she was Starkhaven-born.

Corbinian gestured to the plaque. "Do you know what that means?"

She gazed at him a moment longer before pivoting on the balls of her feet to see. "Oh, that. Some First Enchanter said that fifty years ago. They put up plaques all over. If you're clever, you can find them."

"Yes, I know. My brother and I used to have a game going where we would write down all the quotes we found. We were up to eleven, I think."

"Was Goran good at it?" Samantha asked.

"Not him. My other brother." It wasn't the answer she expected, but Corbinian didn't look away from the tablet. "That particular plaque was affixed late in the Blessed Age, after a dragon, thought to have been extinct for hundreds of years, burned Branian's Lanes to the ground. It is said that First Enchanter Halden reached out his hand to Branian, to save him from the fires, but that Branian was more scared of the mage than the dragon. And so he burned by the dragon's flame."

Branian's Lanes was the largest farmstead in the Free Marches. Technically a part of Starkhaven and sitting right on the banks of the Minanter, the entirety of Branian's crops had been torched. The dragons had ravaged the river regions of the Marches for a better part of a decade until they were driven out, some said into the northern swamps that sat between Starkhaven and Antiva. The Lanes had taken two decades to restore, and Branian's grandchildren now ran the farm, producing the best peaches in the Free Marches.

"I've never heard that story," Shay said.

"I have," Samantha said. "It was the same dragons that ushered in the Dragon Age."

Corbinian nodded, looking up to an overcast and grey sky. "Urzara be damned, for those dragons made her a fool."

Antivan legends were wildly popular as children's stories in Starkhaven. The swamps, those dragons, witches of the wilds, Avvar, all sorts of mad tales, and Samantha and Corbinian had been taught them all, especially the tale of Urzara. Back in the Storm Age, Urzara was believed to be the child of an old god. She had been protected by a cult who held that she would ascend to the Maker's throne, and in preparation, decided to burn Chantries from one side of the Minanter to the other, forcing terrified victims to bow down to some poorly carved stone replica of the beast. Eventually, the stubborn Marchers came together, and once the dragon had returned to her caves in the Hundred Pillars, a mountain range to the North, adventurers, Oath-takers, Templars, warriors, and sellswords alike banded together to storm the mountains. When Urzara fell, many cultists threw themselves in the Minanter River in despair at losing their one true god.

Many natives claimed that the river was darker than it used to be, the riverbed beneath stained by the flow of blood, and some even said that they could still hear the whispers of the dead in the water.

Shay stared up at Corbinian while he wasn't watching her, and Samantha bit her lip to hide her smile. Let this Templar look, she thought; Corbinian was beautiful, there was no denying that.

Shay asked, "So, what's the plaque mean?"

"That's what Halden said to the Templars after Branian died. He meant that the only reason to fear a mage, is if the mage fears you."

Samantha remembered that lesson, too.

"Not all mages are bad." Shay stood proud.

Corbinian looked back to her. "No. Not all. And one doesn't have to be a mage to be bad."

She clucked her laughter. "No, no, Your Excellency. You're quite right. I know some bad apples, but Andraste guide them."

"Andraste guide them."

"Would that the Knight Commander agreed," Samantha added absentmindedly.

Shay seemed startled, but Corbinian let out a breath of laughter so suddenly, not even he appeared to have expected it.

"Shouldn't talk badly about him, messere," Shay warned Samantha. "Not with a Templar standing by."

"Oh… I would wager you don't mind." Corbinian gave her a curious look, and she shifted uneasily.

"Shouldn't be too long." Shay said again.

They were there to see Innley, of course. By chance alone during joint training exercises with the Starkhaven Royal Army and the Templars, Corbinian had met Shay and quickly wrapped her around his charming finger. It was painfully obvious that she was rarely shown the attentions of men. While he had yet to tell Samantha how this Templar was able to do what no other had done, she wasn't going to ask too many questions. Not yet.

The Circle wasn't open to the public but the gardens were, and Corbinian had convinced Shay to arrange for Innley to have his duties altered to include helping the Tranquil trim the Circle's sculptured hedges. Samantha's brother had never shown an aptitude for gardening, so she imagined he would be pleasantly surprised to find they had so cleverly arranged for a visit.

But when the lock clinked and the doors swung wide, her brother did not appear to appreciate her appearance. In grey robes with no distinct markings, Innley stood between one Templar and a Tranquil mage. The Templar had his black blade drawn, and he gripped her brother's arm tightly, enjoying every moment. It was Ser Langley.

Samantha had never seen a mage who had gone through the Rite of Tranquility before, and the way he looked at her, or rather the way he looked _through_ her, made her skin prickle. He looked young. Maybe Innley's age.

A roll of thunder echoed from above ominously, and Samantha wondered if the Maker was giving her a sign or if she just saw signs wherever she went. Regardless, she could have guessed what warning He was giving, for the Tranquil looked dazed, his eyes unfocused. Ser Langley sneered at Innley, her beautiful brother, who was scowling at her.

"So _you_ brought me out here," he grumbled.

The tranquil mage walked passed them without a word, heading through the gardens and disappearing behind a shrub.

Samantha and Corbinian exchanged glances. She drew a deep breath before she looked at her brother. "Of course I did. I came to see you! How are you?"

Innley's eyes were closed doors, glowering beneath his thick brows. "What do you want?"

"What do you mean? I wanted to see you."

"Have a good look, then."

She paused a moment in confusion before she asked, "Are you well?"

"Really?" It wasn't a question, more like an exclamation of disbelief.

She hadn't seen him in almost a year and that was his reaction? Excuses danced on her tongue: he was angry, he was lonely, he envied her freedom, he missed his friends – his friends! Samantha wondered if… "Did you hear about Helena?"

Innley's jaw clenched but he said nothing, only continuing to glower as if he were just waiting for the whole meeting to end.

"I was here at the Circle that night." Corbinian was watching Innley carefully. "I looked for you…"

Innley shrugged, rolling his eyes and looking away.

"I'm so sorry about Helena. She never told anyone she was coming here." Samantha reached for his hand but he pulled away. "We do have good news. Corbinian and I are engaged to be married!" She smiled weakly at her brother but he wasn't smiling. He seemed offended.

"You know, mages aren't allowed to marry. Have children. Have families."

She had never really considered those things for Innley – not since he was sent to the Circle – but she did remember those restrictions from her studies. Magic wasn't something anyone would wish on a child. "Yes, actually… I did know that. Your curse might be—"

"_My what_?!"

"_Magic_, Innley." Corbinian cut in forcefully, keeping his voice flat. "Your curse is _magic_."

"It is a gift." Innley narrowed his eyes at the pair of them. "The Maker made me this way. You think he made me flawed and you perfect? Is that what you're saying?"

"That's not what we're saying," Corbinian said evenly. "But the Maker didn't intend for the doorway to the Fade to be opened through you. If you're going to be angry, be angry with the Tevinter magisters for opening up that floodgate."

"Oh! Of course!" Innley's tone was decidedly hostile. "The whole _magic will not rule over man_ indoctrination. I forgot about your brainwashing."

"Brainwashing?" Samantha shook her head in confusion.

"Calm down," Langley warned, and he was staring at her brother so hard, Samantha thought he would burn holes in Innley's head.

Corbinian seemed annoyed at the whole scene. "I can see clearly that you're unhappy, Innley, but it's not our fault that you are cursed with—"

"_It's not a curse!_" he spat the words through his teeth with controlled ferocity, and he took a breath before he resumed. "Is this why you have you summoned me out here? To gloat?"

"Summoned you? Gloat? I thought you would want to see me! We're family!" Samantha gawked at him, irritated at the anger he was directing at her. "Even if our parents have abandoned you, I will not."

Innley's anger did not recede as he looked at her and in his eyes was a growing indignation that screamed more than just blind fury. They seethed with regret, with longing, with a hunger for a different life; and then he said, "I am not your family."

"Wh-what?"

Innley glanced over her shoulder to where the tranquil mage disappeared. "That walking corpse over there is more my family than you are."

"Now who's brainwashed?" Corbinian burst out furiously. "I know it was your fraternity that was responsible for that bit of trouble here a few years ago. Whatever they've told you about your _family_, I can guarantee you that they don't love you nearly as much as your sister."

"How can she love a monster?" Innley asked snidely. "That's what the Chantry teaches, isn't it?"

"Hey," Ser Langley warned.

Shay stepped closer. "It's all right, Innley."

He closed his eyes momentarily before he continued speaking to Samantha. "I don't even know you. You come here, to my prison, summon me from my room, and—what? Am I expected to celebrate that you are here? Rejoice in the freedoms that you have because you weren't born a mage? Just like I am expected to serve the city by performing the very magic that everyone seems to find so abhorrent?"

"Okay—" Langley placed his hand on Innley's shoulder.

Shay cut in. "Stop—"

"It's your duty," Corbinian commanded, as though he were back in the practice yard training young recruits. "Everyone in Starkhaven has one. Even me."

"Right," Innley scoffed. "My _duty_. Duty implies honor. Honor implies respect. Mages don't receive that, and like the rest of my _family_, I have no future in this duty. My future is this—" He gestured to Langley, who was still holding Innley's shoulder in one hand and his sword in the other. "Right here. Forever. Until I am made like him." He pointed over Samantha's shoulder again, and she turned to see the tranquil mage squinting at the roses, trimming them very carefully.

"Surely you can make a life—" Samantha started.

"My life has already been made for me," Innley interrupted.

"I won't warn you again," Langley glared, but he had the faintest of smiles, and his grip on that enormous black sword was tight.

"It's fine." Corbinian held out his hand to halt the Templar, but Ser Langley turned to Corbinian with a serious look. Shay stepped between them, lifting her small hands out to keep them apart.

The prince did not command the Templars – the Chantry did. And while, legally, the Circle was governed by the Chantry and not the palace, the Templars in Starkhaven granted a lot of favor to the Vaels because of their strong Chantry ties. Though just a lieutenant in the Royal Army, everyone knew Corbinian would be the Captain someday and so usually the Templars granted him deference. But would that be enough this time?

Samantha took a small step back, watching all the while. The way all these fighters were standing with their bodies rigid and their hands poised so near to their swords made her nervous.

"My brother won't hurt anyone," she said quietly, hoping to the Maker that it was true.

"You still don't see it? Must I spell it out for you?" Innley's contempt was immeasurable. "I am a _slave_, sister. Look at me. Look at my prison. Look at my jailors." He didn't move, but he didn't have to.

"That's it. We're done." Langley grabbed Innley's arms, but while he didn't fight back, he kept talking.

"The Tower might be beautiful and comfortable, but it's still a prison!"

"I said _enough_." Langley shook him hard but Innley still didn't fight back.

Shay cried out for him to stop, but Ser Langley ignored her and Innley kept talking. "This isn't a life! This is an amputation—!"

Ser Langley clamped a hard hand over his mouth, and the Templar was not gentle as he dragged Innley back into the Circle Tower. Samantha covered her eyes, listening only to the clang of metal and the scuffle of feet against soft earth and stone.

Corbinian's arm settled upon her shoulders as he turned her, leading her past the tranquil mage, who hadn't even looked up to see what the commotion was all about. Samantha's eyes blurred with fat tears and she tried to brush them away with her fingers. As he walked her far away from the deceptively pristine Tower, she couldn't help thinking bitterly that, despite all this neatness, the Chantry wasn't even bothering to hide its dark underbelly.

All of her visits had been upsetting in some way, but never had Innley been so openly hostile towards Samantha. Nor to Corbinian. And certainly not to the Templars, who everyone said were only trying to protect him – but why did they have to protect him so violently?

"I don't know if I can stand this," she admitted as they stopped at the statue of Corin the Grey Warden.

"Did you see the mark on Shay's armor?"

"What?"

"The mark. On her armor. It was here." Corbinian lifted a finger to his shoulder. "They scratch their armor right at the shoulder joint. It's a message to the mages who their friends are."

Samantha dabbed her eyes with his handkerchief. "You mean… she's a sympathizer?"

"That's exactly what I mean."

A sympathizer! A Templar? And there were more of them? "What exactly do they do?"

"Shay told me that there is a group of Templars that use symbols and markings to let the mages know who to trust. It's a secret code to indicate who will be kind… understanding… gentle might the best way to put it. Those without that mark, like Ser Langley, are Templars who are… unkind. Templars to avoid."

"She had the mark." Samantha thought about how Shay tried to step in, to protect Innley from the others. "She tried to help him."

He nodded.

"But he was so different… so angry…"

"Yes…" Corbinian leaned against Corin's pedestal; the man had fallen to his knee, gripping his broadsword to keep himself upright, looking upwards to the Maker in thanks for granting him victory. That was what the plaque below said, anyway. "But Innley isn't alone."

Samantha looked up to the bronze likeness of the Grey Warden, and wondered if he was cursing the Maker instead. Cursing Him for the all the evil in the world that forced such sacrifices to be made. Sacrifices like love and family. How many things was Innley forced to sacrifice, just because he was born with magic? That wasn't his fault.

She thought about the Templars. When she was younger, they were righteous crusaders safeguarding the citizens and the mages, but, during the last few years, they had become something different. The group had once been singular in her mind, but was now splintered into factions: those who enjoyed the power, and those who felt responsible for it. It brought her some measure of comfort to think that someone was watching out for her brother, even if it was weaker Templars like Ser Shay. Samantha thought about Innley's supposed family. That weird looking man with the unkempt beard, the young woman with the tattoo, the boy with darker skin than Corbinian… they were unknowns, paper dolls standing in a diorama and her perspective was skewed.

She glanced over her shoulder to the Tower, white and beautiful. "Maybe so, but given his attitude, I wonder about the intentions of Innley's company."

"We won't let him push us away," Corbinian assured her. "I don't care if he screams at us for the next ten years, we'll still visit him."

She cracked a grin, but it faded away when she thought of her brother raging at her. "He was so angry…"

"It's not all that surprising, really. Not if you think about it." Corbinian paused, and then said, rather unexpectedly, "I remember how I felt when I was sent away…" A moment's hesitation. A small thing. Miles and miles away in a city peppered with mausoleums built in celebration of death. "Everyone goes through phases. We get scared, we get angry, we get scared again."

"_You_ were scared?" she asked skeptically.

"Of course. And then I was angry," he said frankly. "But I knew I'd come back."

"Unlike your _other brother_?"

He gave her a half smile, and not his best attempt at that. "Sebastian."

She tightened her grip on his hand, wishing they were behind a locked door so she could embrace him without worry of who might be around the corner. "Do you miss him?"

He shrugged. "I received a letter from him yesterday. He's planning on taking his vows to the Chantry in the coming months."

So Sebastian Vael had finally committed to something – but it was to becoming a brother in the Kirkwall Chantry. Samantha couldn't wrap her head around it; in her mind, he was still the wild and reckless boy who had once removed a suit of armor from the Harimanns' estate and left it standing in the Starkhaven Chantry. She remembered arriving for service along with the rest of the nobles to see the armor standing behind the Grand Cleric's podium. Francesca hadn't been amused.

For as long as she could remember, the _brothers_ had been inseparable until whatever row had sent Sebastian to Kirkwall and Corbinian to Nevarra, effectively dissolving their friendship. Now, their relationship more closely resembled rivalry as each seemingly disapproved of the other. But brothers fight, and brothers never let go – Samantha hoped that was true of _her _brother – and she imagined that the two Vaels would find a way to come back together just as she held that hope for her own family.

_Someday. _

"You object to this course of action?" She asked him, and he hesitated a moment, like he knew the answer but didn't want to say, and so she bravely stepped closer, placing her feet between his, and mentally damning anyone who found them to the Fade. "Are you ever going to tell me what's between you two?"

He flashed her that winning smile. "Why, you, of course."


	14. 9:29 Dragon, Winter

**9:29 Dragon, Winter**

Autumn had finished its retreat behind the clouds, cooling the earth to an unpalatable temperature. For the next five months, there would be nothing but overcast skies and nondescript days with the occasional downpour. This mid-morning was no different as Samantha sighed out the window, watching the naked trees twist in agony towards the sky, searching for light, searching for warmth, searching for hope. She could relate.

Her mother and Lady Garrity were seated on similar seats to hers: bright green cushions with pale pink pillows, all arranged strategically around a short, round table that had been carefully set. The centerpiece was a tall, curvy teapot that reflected the world around her like a warped mirror. There were small forks and spoons laid next to tiny, finely crafted teacups, so thin and delicate that Samantha had worried about crushing hers in her fingers. Around the centerpiece stood several trays; a mound of small maple-glazed ham sandwiches on thin black bread that had been cut into palm-sized circles, pears that had been carved to look like roses and dusted with cinnamon, and finally individually cut square yellow cakes with a layer of puffy cream in the center cut so small that some of them had begun to lean. Samantha had eaten sparingly as her mother had instructed: _a lady only eats what she can fit in her palm_.

It seemed ridiculous to Samantha that her mother would have ordered all this food to be prepared only for the ladies to nibble on the smallest pieces of each. She wondered where the rest of it went when they were done. Did they throw it away? Did the servants eat it? – no, wait, her mother would never allow that. Innley wasn't here anymore to wake her at midnight to raid the kitchen stores. She imagined all this pretty food ending up in a pile of garbage somewhere. Rotting away. The thought made Samantha's stomach bottom out with hunger, and she was dying to reach for another sandwich but nevertheless remained still.

She caught a small elven girl out of the corner of her eye, silently gliding across the room. Her tiny feet barely touched the multi-colored rug, and even with a shining and likely heavy sterling silver tray on her palm, she moved with such ease that Samantha wondered why the elves weren't tasked with entertaining. Such lithe creatures, full of grace – well, most of them – with eyes like jewels and legs as long as tree branches. She had heard about some elven ballet dancers in Orlais, but those were only rumors. The elven girl set down a tray of round little mounds of smooth chocolate truffles dusted with some red powder. She glanced at the two women who eyed the tray seriously only to look away to their teacups. They were so ridiculous!

"This is lovely setting," Lady Garrity announced, brushing her fingers over the delicate lace napkins embroidered with tiny flowers. She then lifted up a small spoon, one meant only for stirring tea. "I recognize the work of Starkhaven's seamstresses, but whoever works in your kitchens must be a closely guarded secret. I have never tasted lemon cakes such as these! So moist!"

Lady Garrity was a beautiful woman. She was taller than most, with a round face and smooth skin like a mushroom, but what was most striking about her was her hair. It was the color of the sun-touched gold, and on this dreary morning, it flowed down her back, decorated with several lavish floral combs holding it back from her face. She was Ander, obviously, with sky blue eyes that conveyed a depth that wasn't there. Samantha thought she wore too much jewelry; aside from the combs, she had a ring on nearly every finger, bracelets that lined her wrists, gaudy necklaces, and earrings that stretched her lobes. She was so pretty – she didn't need all of that... but, she reminded herself, of course Lady Garrity wasn't trying to look beautiful with all that jewelry – she was trying to look rich.

"Thank you." Lady Mayweather smiled gently. "Gustavo is a rare find. We will be hosting a gathering here in the spring, and then you will see his hors d'oeuvres. He makes the most amazing éclairs. They are so tiny, they fit on the tip of your finger!"

"That will be a party to look forward to. One of the few, I am sure." Lady Garrity let her gaze saunter over to Samantha, who remained silent. "Will the occasion be to… make a formal announcement?"

She was referring to the location and date of the wedding – always the last decisions to be made. It was tradition in Starkhaven to throw a party whenever a small detail about a wedding had been arranged. The Mayweathers had thrown five in two and a half years; one each for the choice of caterer (some young and trendy chef who called his food _infusions_), florist (the Duchess liked calla lilies imported from Antiva, of course), seamstress (a snooty man from Orlais who insisted Samantha lose ten pounds), music (a trio of harpists), and an artist (an Antivan woman whose artwork was said to capture _inner music_, whatever that was) to paint portraits of the wedding party.

Lady Mayweather reached over, barely placing her palm on top of her daughter's. "Don't let her silence fool you, Verona. My Samantha is as ecstatic as a bride could be."

Samantha turned to Lady Garrity and offered a dead-eyed smile. Though she was greatly anticipating her marriage, it wasn't for the parties. Mostly, once she was married and moved into the royal palace, she wouldn't have to endure mid-morning tea with her mother's shallow friends. Although she supposed she hadn't quite considered the thought of mid-morning tea with the Duchess: that lazy accent and slow manner of speaking was agonizing even in short conversations. Still, at least today, it seemed like a preferable alternative. But most of all, she couldn't bring herself to show her excitement in front of her mother.

Samantha glanced at the woman, sitting tall and proper, with half-lidded eyes as she sipped her tea, perfectly content to fuss over the shape of the crab cakes, the exact color of the bells, the length of the ribbons – all of which brought her immense joy that Samantha refused to share in. No, she would punish her mother by withdrawing, because Innley wasn't here to remind her of that hollow place in her chest where a heart should be.

Lady Garrity let out a small sigh. "If only Benjamin were so settled – and at such a young age! But he insists on chasing around that Antivan girl. I am certain she is just a passing distraction."

"Little girls like that usually are," Lady Mayweather reassured her. "Don't worry. Benjamin will grow up as all boys do, and his attention will turn to a true young lady, poised and full of grace and wit."

"Oh, your words soothe me so!"

Samantha directed her gaze back out the window. These two would likely go on for hours until lunch was served, a meal at which they would stare longingly and eat only crumbs. She wondered how long she would have to endure their gushing about their perfect lives and their perfect children and the tea and the silverware and the floral arrangements before Samantha could get away?

"I had hoped he would take an interest in his other friend, the lovely Flora Harimann. But with her family of late…" Lady Garrity shook her head sadly.

Samantha heard them, but didn't move.

"It's such a shame, is it not?" Her mother set her teacup in its saucer. "They were such a good family."

"I really feel for the girl, because she is an innocent in this." Lady Garrity sipped her tea, with her brows raised as if in thought. "One can only hope that her mother's reputation does not stain the entire family's name. They have been in Starkhaven for generations. Since…" She paused, her teacup inches from its saucer. "The Blessed Age at least."

"'Tis truly a tragedy," Lady Mayweather agreed.

"I heard that the prince has asked her to leave."

Samantha's mother gasped dramatically. "No!"

"I'm afraid so." Lady Garrity sounded so apologetic. "My Benjamin would have considered her, too."

Samantha actually hadn't breathed in almost a minute, and she imagined her cheeks were turning pink. This was news to her. Flora's mother had been asked to _leave Starkhaven_? Exiled? Like Sebastian?

"Oh, excuse me!" Lady Garrity was now breathless as she looked over Samantha. "My apologies, my dear. I know that you count young Flora among your friendships."

Her mother looked to her and cocked a carefully shaped eyebrow, and Samantha knew she should say something.

She turned dutifully back to Lady Garrity, the strings of the puppet firmly in her mother's hands. "Flora is a strong girl. She will survive with her reputation intact – do not doubt it."

"I admire your conviction, young one." Lady Garrity gave her a condescending smile. "But one does not simply _survive_ scandal. One must come out on the other end unscathed. Stronger. More respected. It takes more than apologies and politeness…" She then gave Samantha a lingering look before redirecting her gaze back to her tea.

Lady Garrity was referencing the incident of supposed debauchery at the fountain of Andraste over six years ago! Such audacity nearly grew Samantha's esteem for the woman.

Samantha turned slightly on her cushion, facing both of them, and no longer caring what her mother desired for this morning. "Well, it is a shame about poor Flora's circumstance, but I wouldn't let that worry you about Benji's matrimonial future. He may favor Arianna now, and yes, she is beautiful and vivacious, but she will never win his heart since Garrity men don't marry for love."

Lady Garrity's mouth dropped open.

Her mother's eyes widened for a moment, but only just. It was just like the Harimanns' party for Ruxton, when her mother had ignored her question about Innley.

Lady Mayweather looked over to Lady Garrity and spoke so calmly when she said: "Benjamin will choose a fine girl when the time is right. Just as the Marquess did when he chose my darling Samantha. She is so very excited about her upcoming wedding that she has barely had time to consider anything else."

The way Lady Garrity relaxed, as though Samantha had said nothing, as though her mother had erased everything she had said and replaced Samantha's words with her own, ignited a fire of fury under her skin. She stood abruptly. "Excuse me." She curtsied, turned, and marched through the room, determined to appear insulted.

Lady Garrity looked positively confused but her mother remained calm.

As Samantha left the room, she heard her mother say: "Wait until you see the floral arrangements for my darling Samantha's wedding. The Duchess has the most exquisite taste!"

She knew she would get into trouble later, and perhaps her mother would tell her father, but she didn't care. Lady Garrity couldn't see past stature to the end of her own nose. Such a snob! But her words still echoed through Samantha's mind. The things she had said about Lady Harimann, about Flora, and about their family name…

She walked faster than a lady should through her own home, turning the corner into the front room and nearly crashing into a tall male servant who was carrying a stack of table linens. He fumbled for an apology in terror, only relaxing after Samantha assured him that it was her blunder. She threw open the closet doors and fished through for her coat, finding it smashed between two of her mother's thick furs. Shrugging it onto her shoulders, she exited her estate into the dreary mid-morning.

Flora's estate wasn't that far away, but the chill in the air turned to dread in Samantha's stomach. With each step she took down the empty street, she wondered what would await her at her friend's doorstep.

A young human boy in white answered the door, bowing deeply before ushering her inside and taking her coat. Another boy appeared out of nowhere, offering her a warm cup of spiced apple cider. This was common in Granite Circle at this time of year.

"I am here to see Flora," Samantha said, warming her fingers around yet another tiny porcelain cup.

The boy clicked his heels as he acknowledged her request, and then disappeared, leaving Samantha in the Harimanns' foyer, which was larger than most of the confessions rooms at the chantry. While she waited, she looked up at the grand painting of Lord and Lady Harimann that decorated the largest wall, the one adjacent to the sitting room. Even in likeness, Lady Harimann looked cold. For her posture, she might have been alone in the picture, yet Lord Harimann stood at her side, nearly behind her, as she stared out from the silver frame with a serious expression that looked almost like menace.

Flora's feet dotted each step of the staircase in haste, her skirt bouncing from her knees. When she reached the foyer, she wrapped her arms around Samantha's neck in surprise, nearly spilling the cider in the process.

"Sammie! I didn't realize we had plans! I must have forgotten."

"No, no, Flora." Samantha set the cup down on a nearby table, small and draped with a thin lace covering. "I have come unbidden."

Flora smiled, but she looked tired. "Then to what do I owe this unexpected pleasure? Are you here to escape your royal engagement? I can't go anywhere in this town without hearing about it."

"Me neither." Samantha laughed. "You would think there was nothing else going on in Starkhaven. But that's not why I'm here…"

Flora held Samantha's hands. "Then pray tell."

Samantha hesitated. "May we… go somewhere private?"

Her friend's look was almost sinister in its naughtiness, as if she expected Samantha to divulge some beguiling gossip. With a breathy whisper, she said: "I'll get my coat!"

The pair ended up in the Harimanns' gardens, more vast than the gardens of Samantha's estate yet just as colorless. Only when they had created enough distance from anyone's ear did Samantha speak.

"Lady Garrity was at my home this morning having tea with my mother." Her voice turned sour when she spoke of Lady Mayweather. "They spoke of you. Of your family…"

Flora's face remained still, as unreadable as the Tevinter language.

"She said things about your mother…" Samantha suddenly felt emotional, thinking of her best friend and confidante, the only person who kept her grounded besides Corbinian. "Flora… please tell me you aren't leaving Starkhaven."

Flora's eyes filled with tears almost immediately, but she blinked them back just as quickly. "I… I don't know what will happen."

Samantha couldn't believe it. She had wanted her friend to refute the rumors, but Flora remained passive. Her friend finally glanced over at her, and that was all it took for the girl's usually tough exterior to melt away.

Flora let out a long sigh, and they paused in the garden, staring at each other for a long while before Samantha grasped Flora's coat. "You can't leave."

Flora blinked hard. "Don't make me cry, damn you."

"What has happened?"

Flora huffed loudly, looking entirely uncomfortable, and she glanced back at her estate before she led Samantha further into the garden, the dead and dying flora of the world punctuating the melancholy of their namesake. "It started with the Council and the estate and the expansion. It's turned into… a mess. My parents are talking about moving to Kirkwall. Permanently."

Samantha let out a small noise. "When were you going to tell me?"

"I was hoping I wouldn't have to! I was hoping all this would go away! But it seems like things are getting worse. My parents fight all the time now. Ruxton is… never around. Brett, too. My mother keeps trying to talk me into…" She turned pale for a moment. "Considering Goran Vael. I can't even describe to you how adamant she has been."

"Doesn't she consider your wishes? Your reputation?"

"She says that's all she considers. Sometimes I think she's mad. She gets this look in her eyes, and I can't… It's hard to describe."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean… I can't argue with her. I try, but… I don't know, I turn stupid or something." She shook her head slightly, perhaps to push away the aggravation she clearly felt. "I wish I could describe it. But I will never consider _Goran Vael._ Yech." Flora stuck out her tongue in disgust.

"Goran isn't that bad," Samantha said, though she wasn't so sure. "Regardless, your mother shouldn't be pushing a match that you don't approve of. I mean, what's the point?"

Flora glanced around the garden again, the rose bushes empty and thorny just behind her. "Promise me that what I'm about to tell you will not leave your lips ever."

Samantha stood up tall, her eyes wide with curiosity. "I promise."

"Last night," Flora began, "I heard my parents arguing. It was the worst argument I'd ever heard. It was about our estate in Kirkwall. You know that she's travelled there five times already this year, which is quite the expense."

Samantha nodded.

"They've been sinking so much money into the expansion of the Kirkwall estate that… I heard my father say that our holdings might need to be mortgaged."

"_What_?" Samantha brought her fingers to her mouth – such financial extensions were only for the truly desperate.

Flora's entire body tensed when she made Samantha promise: "You can't tell a soul that I said that."

"I won't." Samantha insisted, somewhat annoyed at her friend's lack of trust.

Flora relaxed, but only a little. "My father suggested putting a halt on the construction in Kirkwall, but Mother… she became irate. I've never heard her so shrill, so out of control. I heard crashes and…" Flora paused for a long time, her eyes flashing with things that she seemed considered saying, but didn't. "This morning… there was a very different scene…" Flora then seemed frightened – the unflappable Flora Harimann, frightened! "Mother and Father were calm. Breaking their fast while making plans to travel to Kirkwall. They plan to bring me, Ruxton, and Brett and his wife – all of us with them."

"Were they still fighting?" Samantha asked.

"No!" Flora's face crumbled. "They were so calm! Amenable, even!"

Samantha felt confused. "Isn't that a good thing?"

"You didn't see… My father…" Flora had to catch her breath. "He seemed…" She brought her hands to her eyes to hide the tears and shaking her head as she whimpered out the words: "I don't want to go!"

Samantha didn't know what to say. This was odd, indeed. Normally Flora would be very interested in travelling to Kirkwall, as Sebastian was there, though she had never really worked up the nerve to spend any meaningful time with him. Somehow the situation had changed.

She had come to the Harimann estate afraid, hoping that Flora would give her reassurance, but now she was the one searching for words of comfort.

"Perhaps your father just lost the debate. He is not an eloquent man," Samantha said gently as Flora sniffled. Lord Harimann's affection was clear while Lady Harimann's feelings were kept to herself. She had never been one to show sentiment in public.

"But he could hardly argue!" Flora's watery words came out feckless. "His voice… his eyes…"

Samantha watched her friend feverishly try to hide her despair. She briefly wondered what it would be like to witness her own parents' arguments, if they had any. Had her parents been expert in hiding their own disagreements about Innley over the years? To Samantha, they seemed a united front of heartlessness, but she wanted so badly for there to be something behind it. Was she only seeing what she wanted? Was there more? Was there more to Flora's family that she wasn't letting show? Her own father's stern severity was in stark contrast to Lord Harimann's malleability.

"Sammie, I'm afraid if we leave, we'll never come back."

"But your estate here is much nicer than the one in Kirkwall!" It was the first thought that popped into her head, as simple as that was, but she meant to imply something deeper. "I just mean that your mother is… well, she's sort of obsessed with status."

"I know," Flora said quietly.

"Is it… because of her meeting with the prince?" Samantha was starting to feel afraid.

"So the rumors are out, then," she lamented.

Samantha was shocked that she hadn't heard this from her best friend first. That she had to hear it from Lady Garrity, ambushed at tea. "It's true?"

Flora nodded slowly, sniffling back emotion. "They were… warned, I think. I overheard my mother say that she and the prince came to _an understanding about their respective positions_."

Samantha could only imagine what that really meant; likely Lady Harimann had overstepped her title. She tried to imagine Starkhaven without Flora Harimann, and came up with a sea of grey, just like the clouds overhead: a stretch of endlessly empty days where each flower that bloomed wilted just as quickly.

"It seems ridiculous that you would move so far away permanently."

"I know…" Flora sighed again, swaying a little like she needed to sit down. "But I think she's trying to leave before being _asked_ to leave."

"How do you know?"

Flora shrugged. "Just a feeling."

"She didn't say so last night?"

"She probably didn't want to. It's embarrassing…" Flora certainly seemed embarrassed. "My father has lived his whole life here, his family has kept an estate here for centuries. To be asked to leave, to be warned even, is such a shame! If anyone knew… Well, that would be reason enough to go."

Samantha opened her mouth to keep going, but quickly snapped it shut, understanding that she wasn't actually helping. Slowly, her thoughts began to wrap around the truth: that Flora was leaving Starkhaven. That Ruxton was, too. All the Harimanns. That they may never return.

Samantha wanted to be gentle, be smart and clever, to make her friend look up from her hands, to smile again and speak like she wasn't holding back. "You're always traveling to Kirkwall anyway. Maybe now you'll just travel here instead."

"Kirkwall isn't Starkhaven," Flora said sullenly.

"Can't be that bad."

"You've never been."

"Then I suppose I'll just have to visit."

Flora seemed to halt her despair for the briefest of moments. "What?"

"Beenie and I will just have to make the trip, I guess. I mean, I doubt Kirkwall will impress me much. It borders Ferelden, after all."

Flora actually let out a small laugh. "There's an entire sea between them!"

"Not big enough, I hear."

"It's not all bad…" That sounded like a concession or perhaps an admittance that even Flora herself didn't fully believe. "I mean, as long as you stay out of Lowtown. And Darktown. And the alienage. And the Gallows… Okay, as long as you only stay in Hightown…" She paused a moment before she said, "I guess that's it."

"Hightown," Samantha repeated. "Sounds classy."

Flora laughed more brightly, bringing her hands to her eyes. "Oh, Sammie. I'm going to miss you."

"Oh, I'll write!" She reached for her friend's hands. "Or better yet I'll have servants write for me! _And_ you'll be near you-know-who…!"

"You mean Sebastian."

"No, I meant Viscount Dumar. I hear he's gorgeous!"

Flora groaned in her misery, but also laughed. "Ugh! Maker! Well, I suppose he's attractive in a bruised-peach kind of way."

The pair shared a hearty laugh at that. Samantha linked her arm through her friend's. "Let's take a walk. Granite Circle is always quiet on overcast days like this. We shouldn't run into anyone."

Flora smiled and nodded, at last showing relief. She held Samantha's arm a little closer than usual, and they spoke of all the things that Flora wouldn't miss, like Goran Vael and all of his awkward advances, Francesca's sermons which were all the same, Starkhaven's general snobbery which the nobles of Kirkwall didn't display to such a degree, but mostly, the romanticism of starting anew.

"Just think of all those you can impress with stories no one has ever heard!" Samantha declared, masking her own sadness. "No one will have heard the story about that time Ruxton put shrimp in Lady Fortney's hair – you remember, when she wore that ridiculous hairpiece with all those squirrels?"

"She never did notice!" Flora giggled herself silly, taking a moment to recover. "What about that time that Beenie took his mother's feathered shawl – the one with ostrich plumes – and placed it on the statue of Andraste, and Francesca didn't notice until after service was over?"

Samantha laughed so hard her cheeks felt sore. "Or that time Sebastian set fire to the barns just so we could get out of service?"

"I remember that! I remember how we escaped through the north gate, and made it all the way to the edge of the swamps. And then we were all too chicken to go in."

Samantha laughed heartily, but when they reached the fountain of Andraste, they both quieted down. Settling on an adjacent bench, they surveyed the location of their last true act of wildness; an act that Lady Garrity had referenced only an hour ago. Six years had passed since Corbinian splashed around in that fountain with his trousers rolled up, while Sebastian waved his glass around and proclaimed Innley a heretic, Samantha with her wine glass high in the air, and Flora and Ruxton laughing ridiculously on this very bench.

"Everything changed after that night," Flora said softly. "It's like, just when you want everything to stay still, everything moves."

"Nothing ever stays still." Samantha looked up at Andraste.

With her face turned towards the grey sky, Andraste looked to the Maker for answers. That was probably the implication for this particular rendition of the warrior prophetess; her expression solemn as she tilted her chin upwards, her hands together, her shoulders back. Samantha remembered that night the same way she might remember a dream had when she was sick. The images were thick in her head: Sebastian's aggressiveness, Corbinian's departure into unconsciousness, Ruxton's ascot, her own torn dress, Innley dropping the wine bottle, and Flora's hair drooping to her shoulders. Samantha stretched her ankle at the memory of the pain from twisting it. A lifetime ago.

"Is your estate in Kirkwall ready for guests?" Samantha asked, thinking about her visit, and how large a party they might be bringing.

"I don't know." Flora sounded resigned. "My mother's renovations keep expanding. It's a simple enough layout down there, but last year she added a second library, and she just changed the plans again to add another wine cellar. It never ends," she whined. "Promise me you'll visit."

"First chance I get!"

"You won't be locked away in some expensive rental for royalty, will you? I won't need an appointment to see you?"

"For you, Flora, I would send Empress Celine herself away."

Flora cracked a smile. "So considerate… You'll make a great princess-cousin, or whatever it is you will be."

"I think if Beenie's mother has anything to say about it, I'll be knocked up."

"Knocked up with a Vael…" Flora smirked wistfully. "My mother would kill to be your mother."

Samantha wanted to remember this moment just as it was, with Flora pinning her hair behind her ears, even though it never stayed there, and Samantha nudging her playfully in front of the fountain of Andraste. The warrior prophetess looked away to the heavens praying to the Maker to keep them all safe, which was what Samantha hoped for, too. But Flora had been right earlier: just when she wanted everything to stay still, everything moved. Though, perhaps it had been moving all along, just slow enough to go beyond notice. Samantha laid her head on Flora's shoulder and willed her to somehow stay, though she knew Flora would not. Flora would move. Away to some other city just as Samantha would move to the royal palace of Starkhaven, and both would start a new chapter in their lives.

Samantha felt her next chapter would be a happy one, but she had no idea what lay ahead for Flora. Her dearest friend. She had no idea that their paths would converge again someday, opposite sides of a line drawn with loyalty and blood.


	15. 9:30 Dragon, Summer

**9:30 Dragon, Summer**

It had been a particularly lovely day – the sun was high in the sky, not a cloud in sight, and a slight cool breeze from the south tickled the leaves of the trees. Most Haveners had been propelled into spontaneous brunches, suddenly setting their patios with their best dinnerware and calling upon servants to set service for ten.

The Mayweathers had received such an invitation from the Prestons, but they had been to decline, as they had already planned brunch with the Duke and Duchess of Starkhaven, Goran, and Corbinian. It had been scheduled weeks ago.

There was no official reason for the invitation; the wedding details were, at last, settled. Public celebrations were being planned, and Samantha's measurements had been sent to the appropriate tailors and seamstresses to fill her Trousseau with all the appropriate royal attire, including a cape which Samantha thought ridiculous. She had never seen any Vael wear a cape!

Lady Mayweather was concerned that Samantha's behavior with Lady Garrity, in addition to the stealthy escapades that she and Corbinian regularly engaged in, had somehow influenced the Vael family to reconsider the engagement. Samantha would have laughed if not for her father's glare, which was, in a word, disapproving.

Brunch was somewhere between highly entertaining—for she thought her mother might explode from worry—and excruciating, for the Duke and Duchess were ever calm, exceedingly polite, and so utterly cordial that Samantha wondered if they had any reason for this call other than social graces.

The table was not piled high with sweetmeats on this day. Rather, they had arranged for a nine-course meal, which included—in the following order—a single cube of cantaloupe with a leaf of basil and a tiny ball of salty, white cheese, a pate accented with some kind of violent-looking mushroom, about two bites of cauliflower sprinkled with chives and smoked cheese, escargot imported from Orlais, about three spoonfuls of a creamy and garlicky soup made from kale, a sliver of game hen roasted and served on a spoon filled with wild rice and topped with caviar, a small salad with walnuts, blue cheese, and pears, a bite of crème brulee so small that Samantha wished for more, and, finally, a concoction of champagne, grapefruit juice, and pear juice. Even though each plate housed no more than three bites, Samantha still felt stuffed.

Afterwards, they retreated to a quiet sitting room where there were no books, no pianoforte, no card tables... nothing at all but comfortable couches and chairs. This room was clearly meant for business. Samantha sat on a small sofa and before she could even look up, Corbinian settled down beside her, taking her hand into his own. Confusion turned her body stiff: what could be so important that he was comforting her before she required it?

The Duke stood next to his youngest son, Goran, who was seated next to the Duchess on a cream-colored highback sofa, and though Goran slouched against the cushions, his mother never leaned back. She kept herself perfectly poised, her legs crossed at the ankles, her hands together in her lap. The string of sapphires around her long neck twinkled against the mid-morning sunshine that beamed through the room optimistically.

Lady Mayweather seated herself directly across from the Vaels in a matching sofa, and Lord Mayweather stood beside her, his hand resting on the back of the chair. Samantha thought he was blinking more than usual. In fact, both of her parents were tense, their shoulders held a little higher and their jaws set firm.

When talk of the weather ran its course, servants came in and brought everyone the same drink: small glasses of a dark port, and the boy left the shockingly large bottle on the center table.

"We thank you for coming," the Duke said for the third time that morning.

"We always enjoy brunch with you," Lady Vael said dreamily in her thick accent, staring at the bottle. "But we have a matter to discuss."

Goran took that moment to let out a small burp and turned a shade of pink, mumbling an apology while Lady Vael patted his knee. It was a small thing, gentle and forgiving; she seemed so prim and proper all of the time, her emotions disguised by her duty as Duchess, yet, at that singular moment when she looked at Goran, her eyes softened. Samantha could plainly see her sincere affection for him, but her display was fleeting, for she resumed her role as Duchess almost immediately.

Lady Mayweather, on the other hand, seemed to find his manners lacking, though her smile only briefly wavered. "We are always honored by your invitations."

Samantha's father looped his thumb through a button hoop on his jacket. "If you have a matter of some import to discuss with us, let us not delay. We are at your service."

Lord Vael gave a small bow of his head and took a breath, and Corbinian reached over and took Samantha's hand right as his father said, "We have received word from Ferelden. We have reason to believe that a Blight has started."

Momentary panic pounded like a hammer inside her chest, and Samantha could feel her blood leave her limbs, her hands growing cold underneath Corbinian's warm touch. Her mother gasped loudly, and her father reached down to take hold of her shoulder.

"Drink," Lady Vael instructed them. "It will help."

Samantha's mouth was dry as she reached for her port, but she did as instructed and was surprised that Corbinian's mother was right. She felt the warm sting of the alcohol soothing her nerves.

"We didn't want to further rumors by discussing it any earlier than today," Lord Vael explained. "But it appears that the archdemon has been sighted."

"Where did you say it started?" Lord Mayweather asked.

"Ferelden," the Duke repeated. "Some military outpost called Ostagar. It's quite far to the south."

Goran had his head bowed, fiddling with something in his hands as his mother sat beside him, still and tall. Corbinian kept taking deep breaths. Samantha's father's reached into his jacket for a handkerchief for his wife, who was speechless, and indeed, Samantha didn't know what to say, either.

Perhaps sensing the questions that the Mayweathers were too shocked to ask, Lord Vael stepped into the middle of the room. "There are many rumors coming out of Ferelden, but I'll tell you what is known. All but two Grey Wardens died at Ostagar."

"Only two?" Samantha's mother lifted a lace-gloved hand to her chest, her sing-song voice turned flat with dread.

"Yes," Lord Vael answered solemnly. "Only two. All of the others died. Along with the King of Ferelden. Cailan, I believe his name was."

Shocked, Samantha tightened her grip on her glass, and Corbinian took another deep breath.

"Then Ferelden is lost," Lord Mayweather bemoaned. "And it is inevitable that the horde will come here."

There had only been four Blights in known history, and two of those had come through Starkhaven. Those weren't good odds.

"It is… likely," the Duke answered, resigned. "It's been at least three months since Ostagar, and even if they send for the Wardens from Weisshaupt, there is no way that they will reach Ferelden inside of a year. There is little hope that Ferelden will survive."

"Cailan!" Samantha's mother was tearing up. "How dreadful!"

"He was married for such a short time," Lady Vael agreed tearfully. "He doesn't even have an heir."

Samantha's father looked away from his wife's blubbering. "Surely Ferelden has some defenses. They can at least slow the horde down while we prepare."

Lord Vael shook his head. "That's unlikely. The man who named himself Regent in place of a new king is the father of the late king's wife. We've exchanged missives in attempts to confirm the rumors of the Blight, but for months, he has denied them. I know this is shocking…" He glanced kindly at Lady Mayweather, who dabbed at her eyes. "But with this new evidence, letters from multiple cities that have seen the archdemon flying overhead, and his continued denials, we don't believe he will act."

"That's ridiculous!" Samantha's father huffed.

"He is convinced that it's simply civil unrest," Corbinian's father growled, his deep voice rumbling in his throat.

Lady Mayweather took a breath before she asked, rather innocently, "Could he be right?"

Lord Vael leveled a glare at her that betrayed his annoyance with the question. "No."

"Oh…" She backed down easily.

"The horde will grow, it will destroy Ferelden, and then sack Denerim while he sits on the throne and denies its occurrence." He took a sip from his port. "The unfortunate part is that he probably won't send resources to fight it."

Corbinian scoffed quietly at Samantha's side, and she imagined that he was thinking the same thing she was: that the truly unfortunate part was for the thousands who would die, or be forced from their homes, and for those who would lose family members and livelihoods, left to start over in some new city with nothing. Was this what responsibility did to a leader? Did it take away their compassion?

"The Wardens surely can do something," Samantha's father said hopefully."They're young," the duke answered pensively, his gaze drifting to his son. "Perhaps Corbinian's age. They are recruits, really, and don't stand a chance."

"I don't think you give them enough credit," Corbinian spoke up. "They've not lost, yet. And…" He turned to Samantha, holding her hand right. "There's a crazy rumor that they found the Ashes of Andraste."

Samantha gaped at him. "What?"

"I heard some chanters talking about it." He gave her a small grin, his eyes shining. "They received a note from chanters in Denerim who heard from chanters in some backwater town. I don't remember the name."

The news that a piece of Andraste had been found – the warrior prophetess that had shaped every life on Thedas – seemed to spark a brief respite from the horror for her. Something extraordinary had come out of something horrifying. She breathed out in awe. "That's amazing!"

"I knew you'd like that—"

"There are more pressing matters than Chantry lore." His father's stern tone cut him off. "This is a Blight, and the darkspawn horde won't be stopped by nine-hundred-year-old relics." The corners of his mouth turned down to a frown. "There's still much to learn. Much to do. We don't have the luxury of scholarship; we must prepare."

If Corbinian was bothered by his father's harsh tone, he didn't show it, casually giving Samantha small wink when the elder Vael looked away. Samantha looked from him to the Duchess, who gazed longingly at her eldest son, and to Goran, who wouldn't lift his head. At first, Samantha couldn't figure out why all their expressions were filled with dread, a deep-seeded fear that they didn't want to share. It was the only emotion that was poorly hidden, because it seemed to affect them all so deeply.

"What's being done?" Lady Mayweather asked, finding the strength to reach for her husband's hand.

"Starkhaven has been through Blights before." Lord Vael sipped his port calmly, as though there was no cause to worry, but he kept glancing at Corbinian. "The plans were laid four hundred years ago at the end of the last Blight, but with the advancements in weaponry and masonry, we will be able to update the plans. The prince has been quietly seeing to the fortifications for the last three months."

_They've known for three months?_ They were really good at hiding their worry in public, Samantha decided, for she had never once suspected anything for their demeanor.

Corbinian gripped her hand tighter, and she felt herself drift, the room turning fuzzy and the voices falling away as she sank deep into the ocean blue, and in those beautiful eyes, she saw his family's uncertainty reflected back. Though he tried to hide it, for the first time ever, the Marquess of Starkhaven, her best friend, fiancé, and lover, seemed unsure. Was he afraid of the Blight? There was determination there, and she knew he would honor his duty as Captain of the Royal Army. His duty. Until his last breath.

"The Oath…" she whispered and he nodded.

"The Oath," Lord Vael echoed, but his voice was strong enough to silence all heartbeats. "This is why we have brought you here, because when news of the Blight spreads through Starkhaven, many will look to Corbinian." He turned his intimidating stare to Samantha. "And they will look to you, my dear."

"Me?" she asked, taken aback.

Lord Mayweather reached for the bottle of port to pour his wife another glass. "Samantha will be prepared, do not doubt that. She has already been given extensive lessons on history, including the Blights."

"It's not her knowledge of history we are concerned with," Lord Vael clarified. "We know that she is sophisticated—" Samantha's mother let forth a tiny proud smile. "—but what we need to make certain is that she is prepared for the questions, the comments, to stand unwavering by his side as he talks about his duty. He has taken the Oath, and when the Blight arrives, he will fight. There is no retreat. There is no other plan. He will fight or he will die."

"Vaels don't die," Corbinian remarked casually, glancing up to the walls at the portraits of Vaels long dead. "Our shadow hangs over everything. Even when we're not here."

Goran snickered under his hand, but Lady Vael seemed troubled by his cavalier attitude.

"You'll have to excuse my son's sense of humor." Lady Vael sighed.

Lord Mayweather waved one hand in the air, a gesture to show he was unaffected by Corbinian's comment.

Samantha, for her part, was staring at Corbinian's fingers wrapped around hers. She could feel his nerves: the quickened pulse underneath his ring, the one signifying his promise to marry her. She wondered if they would ever reach that day. It was less than a year away, and now there was a Blight. A real Blight.

Samantha had only ever seen pictures of darkspawn, the foulest creatures imaginable. Their skin was black and splotchy, eaten away with rot, their eyes were hollow, their jaws slack from the decay. They were like walking corpses, yet faster than a frightened cat and unrelenting in their advance. And apparently, they had found an archdemon: a dragon! The pictures in books were too fantastical to believe. A dragon, enormous and muscled, but also ravaged by disease, corrupted by insanity, spreading its taint and stitching a trail of death across Thedas. Samantha hoped Andraste was still watching over them, because she didn't want to see a corrupted dragon nor meet a horde of corpses, and she certainly didn't want to lose Corbinian to them.

The others were still talking, but she couldn't hear them. She watched Corbinian's face, and he gave her a small smile. She thought of that night when the mages had tried to escape the Circle Tower of Starkhaven... when she waited for him to return, and nearly lost hope that he would. If he went out to fight the darkspawn, would he return, or would that threat be too great for him to withstand? A darkspawn horde was a far cry from a few renegade mages.

"Miss Samantha," Lady Vael said gently.

"Yes?" She responded distantly as the worry seeped through her body like tea leaves in hot water.

The Duchess gave her a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "I am here should you need counsel on the duties and responsibilities of our family during crisis."

_Maker_. Listening to her talk was a chore. The way she eked out every word, Samantha couldn't imagine receiving a lesson from her, because listening intently would either put her to sleep or give her a headache.

"I will do my very best, though I am unsure what is required." Samantha answered honestly.

Lord Vael let out a quiet sigh as he evaluated her, clearly considering where he should begin. "My father always said that when times are good, Starkhaven will run itself. But when there is uncertainty, that's when the people will look to their leaders. If we panic, everyone else will too. It is up to us to be strong and sure. We must hold onto our dignity even in our weakest moments, but above all, we must be decisive."

Everyone in the dimly lit room watched him as he spoke. He was so calm, and she realized that he was right. The fact that he seemed sure of what he said made her feel better, but she couldn't help but wonder if it was all an act he had been raised to perform. But did that matter?

She thought of Corin, the Grey Warden, whose statue she and Corbinian had leaned against so many times, and how he must have been calm like that, too. All Wardens must be. All Wardens must be sure and brave and strong, for what kind of person could face an entire horde of darkspawn and not run away?

She looked back to Corbinian and thought of Corin's story. It was well known by everyone in Starkhaven, because he had ended the second Blight in Starkhaven's Vanguard Square. The very spot where his statue stood. She always wondered why there was no statue of Neriah. The story went that during the battle with the archdemon, the mage and Grey Warden, Neriah, threw herself in front of the archdemon to shield Corin from a blast of fire – a blast that unfortunately killed her. If it weren't for her, Corin would never have lived to drive his sword into the beast's heart. As the story is told, after he slew the archdemon, he crawled to Neriah's lifeless body to place his hand over hers before death claimed him. That story had been romantic to Samantha, but now it seemed worse than tragic, like a nightmare. What kind of Maker would continue to forsake a people who showed such courage? _Andraste_!_ Make him listen_!

Lord Vael spoke directly to Samantha. "We must insist that you spend more time at the palace and in our company. That way, you are not ambushed by the overly curious when you are alone. Once you and Corbinian are married, you will be privy to information that is not for the public, and thus you must become practiced at what to say and to whom. You may be approached by unsavory characters, desperate for a livelihood and promising to take the Oath. You must practice discretion, patience, and above all, poise."

"Yes, my lord," she responded when he paused although, truthfully, she wasn't sure if she would remember all of that.

"Corbinian will have additional responsibilities as well, as he is the only living soul in Starkhaven who is obligated by the Oath." Lord Vael took a drink from his port, and it seemed to Samantha that he growing uncomfortable. "His training time will increase. As Captain of the Royal Army, he will have to work closer with the Circle, the Templars, the militia, the archery, and cavalry regiments. Oathtakers are a special group… they must prepare in different ways. They must learn to stay alive…" He paused a moment, clearing his throat before he finished: "To fight for as long as they can."

He was afraid! Samantha blinked fast, not wanting anyone to see her tears, no matter that her mother was whimpering and Lady Vael was dabbing her eyes with a delicate handkerchief. No matter that Goran still hadn't looked up, though Samantha thought his cheeks were turning ruddy. No matter that Corbinian was gripping her fingers so tight, the tips were starting to tingle. Her breath was hitching as she pretended everything was just fine.

"I'm not going to die, Sammie." Corbinian's baritone voice puffed into her ear, whispering so quietly, none of the others could possibly hear him. She tilted her head towards him, wanting to be so much closer, and he lifted a finger up to her cheek, gently brushing away an escaped tear. "I promise."

She wanted to believe him. But there was a great big world on the other side of Starkhaven's towering iron gates. The darkspawn. The archdemon. Magic. Was there anywhere in the world that evil couldn't touch?

Only a few weeks passed before news of the Blight reached Starkhaven after Samantha and her family learned of it, for the post never ceased. By midsummer, the people of Starkhaven were completely consumed with what the Grand Cleric called "Blight Panic". Those who weren't consumed with worry were obsessed with every small detail of what was happening in Ferelden. The wildest stories were always about the Wardens.

Sebastian had written to describe the thousands of refugees that blanketed the gates of Kirkwall, so many that they had closed the city. Men, women, children, and worst of all, mabari, had run away from Ferelden, crossing the Waking Sea in search of refuge, sometimes in the dead of night as the darkspawn devoured their homes and set fire to their lands. They had no warning just as they had nothing left. Once the poorer districts had swelled above capacity, the countryside had become littered with refugee Fereldans. Kirkwall remained closed for months as more and more gathered outside the gates – so many, Sebastian had said, that sickness and famine had killed off roughly a fourth of what the Blight could not.

Letters from Highever arrived every once in a while, as one of the prince's sons was married to a Fereldan woman from there. The stories were much too fantastical to be true, and everyone agreed that the bards were embellishing.

The wildest story was that the Ashes of Andraste possessed healing properties, and could cure the sick of any ailment. Corbinian didn't believe a word of it, but Samantha remembered from her lessons that some historians thought she might possess magical abilities. Her father had never agreed with it, but insisted Samantha learn so that she would be able to converse against it.

The most ridiculous and pervasive story was that Queen Anora's father and current King Regent, some Fereldan rebellion hero named Logain Mac Tir, had abandoned his son-in-law at Ostagar, resulting in King Cailan's death at the hands of the horde. Samantha and Corbinian both had a good laugh at that one – a father abandoning his daughter's husband to die, a man who also just happened to be the King of Ferelden _and _was the son of his best friend, late King Maric, who had died at sea? That was just ludicrous.

The people of Starkhaven devoured any story about the pair of Grey Wardens. They were rumored to be fierce fighters, surviving the wildest battles against impossible odds. This was somewhat reassuring, as many spent hours in the Chantry praying to the Maker to keep the Blight away.

The stories Samantha liked weren't about impressive battles or righteous endeavors, but about the Wardens' altruism. They helped people. Every kind of person, too. Elves, royalty, peasants, slaves. Rumors swirled that they had saved a remote village from a darkspawn invasion, cured a pack of werewolves from their curse ("Werewolves don't exist," Corbinian had said), and cleansed the Ferelden Circle of a pride demon, saving it from the Rite of Annulment.

Blights were no longer a metaphor for struggle. Wardens were no longer a metaphor for the champion within all of us. These were real things, cold threats, and not far away. Samantha hoped that the Wardens were not so naïve as everyone feared they were. She hoped they were strong enough to fight, strong enough to survive, strong enough to face the horrors that the rest of the world couldn't. That she couldn't.

All Haveners could do was prepare, pray, and wait, the latter being the hardest part. Those that didn't flee to the north entrenched themselves in the city. Fortifications were built into basements, families hired extra guards, the presence of security increased along the perimeter of the city, recruitment for the city guard and the Royal Guard increased, and Templar enlistment and Chantry service attendance doubled. Fear made believers of the indifferent.

One late summer day, when the sky was as blue as a jay, news of the pair of Wardens stopped coming. It was as if the cold Fereldan winds that blew in from the south foreshadowed some terrible event to come. People would ask each other on the street, _have you heard anything about the Ferelden Wardens_, and everyone would shake their head and sigh. Chantry service turned towards hope with stories about heroes and the darkest days of history, each story always ending with a pinpoint of light on the horizon, a reason to hope and not give into despair. Some days, service was short, but an hour of prayer for the Wardens followed.

When the summer days ran shorter, and the evenings turned crisp, news of Kirkwall's turmoil surfaced. Sebastian had detailed everything in a letter, and Flora filled in what gaps he left. The news was nearly as bad as news of a Blight.

A group of Qunari warriors had become marooned in Kirkwall.

Any news about the Qunari, other than their defeat, was not good news. They were probably the most hated group in the Free Marches, maybe even the world, next to the Tevinter magisters, for both had tried and succeeded at one time or another in conquering the city-states. The Qunari, with their Qun and unwavering resolve, were a threat wherever they gathered in numbers, and when they attacked, they did not retreat.

When the Qunari had attacked Starkhaven in the Steel Age, almost three hundred years ago, more than ten thousand Qunari warriors descended upon the city and killed or converted nearly twice that many citizens of Starkhaven. There was one city block just south of Julian's Track, the largest horse racing track in the Marches, which was a different color of stone, because when the Qunari had attacked, they had leveled every building. All across Starkhaven, there were old paintings of detailed stone structures that didn't exist anymore.

The Viscount of Kirkwall claimed that the group held no hostile intention, but that was a laugh. A Qunari without hostile intention was like a Templar without faith. Sebastian wrote that a section of the city was quartered for them, and that they stayed out of everyone's way… mostly. In addition to the Qunari and the growing number of refugees, crime had ballooned out of control; assassinations, thefts, and corruption ran like a fuse on fire through the city and, Sebastian lamented, the Chantry.

Kirkwall was in trouble. With a weak Viscount, a city swelled with peasant Fereldans, and a marooned group of Qunari, it was only a matter of time before the city imploded. And many feared that Starkhaven, just a ten day march north, would be next.

When the last days of summer began to shake blood-red leaves from the trees—about the time that Corbinian was promoted to Captain and Samantha had yet another engagement party, this time hosted by the Kendalls—strange rumors began to circulate about Lord Harimann, Flora's father. It seemed that many of his investors and business partners were severing ties with him. It took another few weeks to find the truth, for Flora's letter claimed ignorance. The truth was that Lord Harimann had convinced the Viscount of Kirkwall to send aid to Ferelden.

Normally, such an altruistic gesture would prompt praise, but this was a Blight and the Free Marches were no allies of Ferelden. A great many felt that the aid should have stayed within the region, shoring up the defenses of the coastal city-states who were swollen with refugees. Resources were dwindling, crime was ballooning, and military protection was growing thin. Lord Harimann and Viscount Dumar may as well have placed a banner across the famed Twin Gates of Kirkwall that said, _Screw the Free Marches_.

Flora must have been mortified at having to endure this shame, especially in front of the man she most wished to look upon her favorably: Sebastian Vael. Brother Sebastian, as he was now known. He was committed. Flora still clung to the hope that he would see her someday, maybe on the street or during service, and, of course, fall madly in love with her. It must have pained her greatly for Sebastian to discover her father's betrayal.

"I have to write to Flora," Samantha announced after she finished reading Sebastian's latest letter. "I'm sure she's ready to throw herself into the abyss with this scandal."

"Flora was never one to put on airs." Corbinian gripped his sword, his fingers resting on the hilt's bull horns.

_Clang_! The smithy's hammer came down hard upon metal, the noise ringing out from the small hut nearby.

"Yeah, but Sebastian wrote us this letter—" She stopped herself, unsure of how much more she should really say but Corbinian paused, giving her that amused look before he resumed his stance and swung hard at a practice dummy. Samantha sighed. "Surely it's not a foreign idea that Flora holds him in high regard."

"If only we could say the same for him."

"Beenie!" Samantha leaned on the opposite side the fence surrounding the practice yard.

_Clang!_

He laughed. "I'm sorry, Sammie, but she'll be waiting a long time for him to break his vows."

"She's not an idiot. She's optimistic!" Samantha glanced down at Sebastian's letter, knowing that he was right. "Anyway, everyone knows that Sebastian wouldn't break his vows for anyone but himself."

"Quite right." Corbinian wiped his damp brow. "Maybe she can give him a reason…"

_Clang!_

"What reason ought that be?" Samantha teased him.

"Something he hasn't seen before."

"That narrows down the list."

"Maybe the Qunari can help her out…" He swung hard against the dummy, slicing the head clean off. He smirked, breathless from practice and enjoying showing off. "She could always join the Chantry."

Samantha couldn't help her loud laugh at that. "That would, of course, defeat the entire purpose."

_Clang_!

He sighed, setting the tip of his sword in the dirt. "All right, fine, if we're being creative, then she needs to… I don't know…Be the kind of person he wants to be outside the Chantry. Do something important or something."

There was a pause before Samantha said, "That's a tall order."

He smiled wide, leaning on his sword. "Well, I don't think a bit of lace and a smile will work for him like it does for me."

She folded the letter, enjoying the playfulness. "I think you underestimate lace."

"But not the smile?" He evaluated her thoughtfully. "Interesting choice."At that point, they noticed that the smithy's clanging had stopped, and Samantha turned red with embarrassment. Corbinian just chuckled as he made his way over to the fence, his tunic sticking to his shoulders, his sword hanging loosely from his fingers. "Next month can't come soon enough."

"You're in such a hurry to get me in here. You know, you might regret it." She leaned against the fence, making a face at him. "I might be obnoxious to live with."

"Not unless you develop a hearing problem that requires an earhorn." Corbinian set his sword against the fence.

"Then I suppose you're safe." She ran a hand over his damp brow, the sweat clinging to his hairline and causing his hair to stick up and away from his head. "At least the parties are over."

"I'm still disappointed that those Qunari didn't schedule one." He snaked an arm around her waist, pressing her against the fence between them. "Since we're going to honeymoon in Seheron and all."

"Just imagine a hundred Qunari all mumbling _asit tal-eb_ to each other—Ah!" His movements cut her off and if she had thought his body was solid and immovable all those years ago at her sixteenth name day celebration, she was clearly unfamiliar with the words as he lifted her from the ground, over the fence, and into his arms. He had become much stronger during his training, and though he was sticky, she paid no mind.

"Are you busy tonight?" he murmured into her hair.

"I think I'm reorganizing my underwear drawer," she whispered back, hoping the allure of lace was enough to tease him thoroughly. "You're welcome to help—"

As the words left her mouth, Corbinian took that moment to silence her with his lips. She pulled herself up against him and as the tips of her toes left the training yard dirt, a slight chill crept up her spine. She hadn't felt a breeze, but with Corbinian so close, she didn't feel much else. It took effort to break apart, and when they did, Corbinian leaned forward, resting his forehead against hers.

He whispered, "I'll be there after dark."

She curled her fingers in his hair, opening her eyes to see his Vael-blue looking right back. He always looked at her and she liked that, because in those blues she could see an entire world. A bright blue ball, warm and full of want, for her, for a family, for a life of adventure and romance, for private jokes and private moments, stolen away from everyone.

"You best not keep me waiting," she whispered in her best warning voice, though she was certain it was obvious that she would wait all night, all year, all her life.

"When have I kept you waiting?" He asked with that famous Vael ego.

"I'm always waiting for you," she answered quickly, not realizing how her prophetic words would come to shape her life.

He pulled her closer. "And I will always come. I promise."


	16. 9:31 Dragon, Spring

**9:31 Dragon, Spring**

Samantha woke with a start. It wasn't a nightmare or Corbinian tapping on her window.

It was a loud, thunderous boom.

She sat straight up in bed, gripping the locket around her neck. All was quiet. The noise sounded familiar, and she prayed to the Maker that she hadn't heard what she knew she just had. She let out another yelp, gripping the blankets of her bed when another loud boom erupted from somewhere in the city.

Fighting through the fear of both the known and the unknown, Samantha found the courage to get out of bed and tiptoe down the hallway. It was dark, but she could see lights flickering under the door of Innley's old room, though they did not seem to originate within–rather, they were coming from outside.

She crept inside, and darted towards the large window from which she could see across town, and, as her fingers met the cold windowsill, she could only stand there, frozen somewhere between panic and awe.

The Circle Tower was on fire. Smoke blacker than the night and as thick as honey poured upwards from its windows, heavy with cloudy sinew, like the fire wasn't natural. The smoke was so thick that she wasn't sure if it was produced by fire until a jut of flame stabbed at the air outside one of the windows—almost as if a dragon had breathed it—lighting up the sky and the tops of buildings all across the city for the split second, until the billowing smoke swallowed it back up again.

Her thoughts randomly shifted, lit by panic. Was she safe here? Where were her parents? Was Innley caught in the fire? Was Corbinian suited up in his armor, ready to charge into the tower, or was he already there? She tried to see the city below, looking for movement, but the smoke pouring out of the tower seemed to snake through all the streets, obscuring any hope of visibility.

_Tinkle tinkle._

Her hand rested on the glass as she pressed forward, trying to get a better look at the streets below when Samantha heard the sound. She couldn't focus on what it was, but rather where it came from. It came from the hallway. She heard something else, something that sounded like glass rolling over a smooth surface. These sounds were both familiar but unfamiliar, because what could make those sounds? And they were in the _house_…

She turned her back to the window, leaning against it, trying to stay away from the doorway that led to the hall. She knew something was wrong. Something was very wrong. Another boom from the Circle bellowed out across the city and she felt the shockwave through the window rattle her straight to the heart. The fear started to spread its roots through her limbs, and she wanted to cry.

Then she heard a soft whimper. And it wasn't hers.

Grasping the curtains, Samantha moved along the wall around the room which was still dark, only partially illuminated every time a stab of fire escaped the Circle to light up Starkhaven. Moving as fast as she could, which was actually quite slowly, Samantha inched towards the door, her bare feet padding on the plush rug of Innley's old room, reaching the doorway and gripping the side of the door for resolve, afraid if she let go of anything, she would simply fall and never stop. She didn't step into the hallway right away, only leaning around the corner to see clear to the opposite end before ducking back into the shadows. Although it was dark, there was a faint yellow glow coming from the room at the very end of the corridor. Her parents' room.

_Tinkle tinkle._

What was that? Feelings of dread crept into her throat and perhaps as some kind of mental defense, her mind started to invent stories as she convinced herself to move down the hallway. Maybe her father had left their bedroom to find Samantha, and her mother had stayed behind, lighting a candle while she waited, explaining the soft light. But, of course, her father would find her bed empty. When she passed her bedroom and found it undisturbed, she knew that story was wrong. Everything was just as she had left it.

She passed by the stairs and briefly looked down. The darkness blanketed everything with transparent fuzz and it was difficult to see, but there were no guards. No servants. It was empty. She heard that sound again: the glass rolling. Followed by another whimper.

That small, barely audible sound gripped her and didn't let go. Her hands began to tremble, and her body wanted to stop—was screaming and shaking for her to stop—and she wanted Corbinian. She wished he was here protecting her instead of the city as the Oath of Starkhaven demanded. She had a fleeting thought that maybe she should leave her house, run to the royal estate and find solace under the protection of the royal guard. But if she couldn't move down the hallway of her own house, how did she expect to move through a city under the siege of magic where the very streets caused blindness? No, she couldn't leave. She knew she must continue because whatever lay at the end of the hall, she couldn't in good conscience leave her parents alone with it.

Another boom sounded from somewhere in the city and Samantha could tell from the sound that it wasn't the Circle. It was somewhere else. Somewhere closer. Something was out there, and she hoped to the Maker and back that Corbinian was beating the holy hell out of it.

Taking a breath, her hand found the wall which became her new guide as she drifted towards the soft light, past the portraits and the picture of flowers where Innley had once been, past the lounges and the tables and finally to the open doorway where the scene inside revealed itself as she rounded the corner, like a curtain being drawn back.

The soft light was coming from the center of the room, or so she thought. Her eyes found the location but the source was concealed by a person blocking her view. She must have made some noise or something, because the man spun around and it was at that moment that she thought she was going to lose it.

"Innley?" she whispered incredulously, certain she was going mad.

"Well, hello there." He glared at her with eyes that glowed a poisonous green.

Tears spilled out, skipping off her cheeks like stones. "Wh-what are you doing here?"

"Making them seeeeee…"

Samantha felt terrified by his tone. He didn't sound like Innley. His voice was somewhere deeper, creepier, almost like it echoed inside his body before it left his mouth. He sounded like a— She didn't need to say it. She thought it and that was enough. Innley started to laugh.

"Figured it all out, sister?" He gave her a wide, crooked smile. His teeth were black and Samantha's mouth opened as she silently gasped for air, frozen with fear. "Did you come here to rescue them, then?"

Innley who was not Innley bore his horrible eyes into her and she couldn't think of anything else to say except, "Where are our parents…?"

"They are not _my_ parents." Was that Innley? Speaking with another's voice? "They told me so! The Templars came and dragged me away and they asked for my name and they said _Innley _and that was it. _Innley of Starkhaven. _That's what I have become."

Is that what he had become? His eyes glowed monstrously, and she could see that both his teeth and his tongue were black as death itself. From somewhere inside his mouth where the sounds were coming from, there an underlying growl as though somewhere inside Innley lay a vicious animal and all it had to do was get mad enough and it would stretch through his body, cracking bone and muscle until it was free from the confines of its flesh prison.

Innley took a step towards her. "They replaced all the pictures on the walls. They never visited me."

"I visited…" Her voice failed her, an echo of her courage.

"Yeeeeees." He drew out the word like a knife. "My pretty older sister did visit. With the help of her boyfriend. Now I remember."

He remembered? Had he forgotten? No, it's not Innley –_ it's not Innley_! The very realization that he was not himself, that he was something else so very dark and from an entirely different realm of existence, those beings that the Grand Cleric always warned about, made Samantha nearly lose the semblance of control she had left. She was near hyperventilating now.

He took another step, and she heard the glass rolling again. "I didn't appreciate those visits."

_Tinkle tinkle._

Samantha's stomach started to tremor as she cried, little sobs that she was trying to hold in escaped and she couldn't look away from his horrible green glowing eyes.

He tilted his head and shifted his weight and it was then that she saw the light source. It was a sconce sitting atop a thick staff in Innley's hands. On the bottom of the staff was a small globe of obsidian and when he moved, the globe dragged across the floor producing a noise. The rolling glass.

Then the whimper, pitiful and agonizing and it was coming from above. Samantha's eyes instinctively turned upwards and when she did, all the air fled her lungs at once when she saw her parents, hanging – no not hanging – floating, suspended just beneath the crystal chandelier that hung majestically from the high ceiling. The crystal chandelier.

_Tinkle tinkle._

"You're hurting them..."

"Why shouldn't I? They abandoned me! They left me to die in that tower!" His movements were sporadic as he thrust his arm upwards, pointing towards their family.

"Please stop…" Samantha shook her head; she had no defense for them. She couldn't deny that they had made her angry at their actions as well.

"They will suffer! Just as I have suffered!"

"They don't know—!"

His eyes went wide, and in the dim light, she could see a swirling in his green pupils, something like liquid metal. "You are no different than them!"

"I tried—!"

"You tried to do what? Aside from summon me whenever you felt guilty enough to visit!"

She let out a small whimper, shaking her head.

"Have you one thought in that pretty little head that isn't selfish?" The hand that wasn't gripping the staff balled into a fist. "Did you ever consider that your visits were inconvenient? That they were insulting?"

Samantha took a step backwards, but he followed.

"You acted like nothing had changed but _everything had changed_!" Innley screamed. "I put up with your visits because _I had no other choice_!"

"I didn't—!"

"No." He cut her off with finality that time, standing up tall with his terrible eyes blazing. "You didn't and you still don't know the horrors of that place. Perhaps you should be punished as well! You knew what they were doing to me and still you did _nothing_!"

"That's not—!"

"_LIAR_!" He reached out and grasped her neck hard in one hand, making her locket cut into her skin, and suddenly the air was gone, her body frozen in its last breath.

Samantha's hands went up to his as he pushed her back against the wall, hard, knocking the breath from her. She scratched and struggled, trying to reach his face as he bared his teeth, growling at her like an animal. He lifted her higher and she kicked at the air until her vision began to blur... and then he let her go.

Her hands and knees hit the floor hard and, coughing through a raw throat, Samantha felt the incipient bruise on her throat where her locket had been pressed into her jugular. Her lungs burned as she tried and failed to breathe and cough at the same time, suddenly reduced to her base instincts of trying to survive and nearly collapsing from the exhaustion of learning how.

Innley lowered himself to one knee, hissing into her ear: "He wants to spare you, but you are a selfish, shallow waste of a life. He will understand."

Samantha could only cough again and again, believing that these breaths were probably going to be her last. Innley, or whoever this was, was going to kill her. After he killed her parents. She heard the rolling glass and looked up to see Innley's back.

"Who should I punish first?" he asked, as if it were an academic question, one that didn't involve pain and torture.

Samantha tried to speak, but her voice was raked over rocks.

"Do you think...?" He looked back at her over his shoulder, his head back-lit by the glow of his staff and he moved a little to his right, the obsidian ball rolling along the floor as he came to a stop underneath her father.

_No…_

The look on her face seemed to be a sadistic pleasure for him and he spun about, raising his hand in the air, and when he let out a loud yell, her father hit the floor hard. His eyes snapped open and when he focused on Innley, they said all there was to say. Terror. Abject terror. Innley sneered before he thrust the ball end of his staff through their father's chest.

She could hear the bones crunching, the muscles and flesh ripping, and the blood gushing forth. The noises her father made at that moment were worse than Samantha could have ever imagined and she covered her ears, curling up into a ball against the wall, her tears spilling out. She was certain she made noises of her own, trying not to hear her father's dying screams, the grunts and the gurgles under Innley's cruel laughter.

Samantha wailed then, covering her ears and her eyes and screaming something that she was certain resembled _no_ and _stop_ and _please_ but he just laughed and eventually her father stopped making those terrible noises and she couldn't look. She couldn't look.

"One down…" She heard him hiss into her ear. "Two to go…"

She had to get out of there. She couldn't save her mother. She could only save herself or sit there and wait to die. This was the game. And there was only one way to play.

"Did you enjoy that?" he whispered and she could smell the death inside him, sweet and pungent like those decomposed rats that she and Innley had found in the cellar one year. "I can do other things. I can make them move if you want."

She would have to wait. She couldn't jump up now; he would have her in his hands, those disgusting bruised hands, before she made it to the stairs. She would have to wait and she hated that it was her mother's death that she would have to wait for.

"I can make her talk. What would you most like her to say?"

How long would this go on? How long would he draw out the torture of the moment to satiate his own desire for revenge? Samantha cracked open her eyes, but kept her body curled up again the wall.

_Tinkle tinkle._

"Me?" He touched his chest lightly. "I think I want to hear the truth. Finally."

She could smell the decomposition receding as he stood up and she allowed herself to peek up as he moved towards the center of the room. The roll of the glass ball stopped when he was directly beneath her mother and he smiled his blackened smile, the saliva dribbling from the corners of his mouth, black as oil.

Her mother whined again; this time it was evident that she was aware of her surroundings, because she eked out Samantha's name like an arrow to the chest.

"_Why did you leave me there_?" Innley raged from beneath her, his voice rattling.

Samantha turned her eyes to the door, trying to gauge how far away she had been pushed from it.

"You were a shame to the family." Her mother's whisper was barely audible and Samantha looked up to see her face, tear-streaked and crumpled.

"_You left me! You abandoned me! Did you ever think about me?_" That sounded like Innley.

"I tried not to…"

"_WHY?_" His screaming was a raging pain drawn up from somewhere deep.

_Tinkle tinkle._

"Because magic is a sin."

"No…" His voice changed back to the sadistic creature that was enjoying all of this. "Abandoning your child to torture and solitude is a _sin_."

Samantha stood up slowly, as quietly as she could, keeping her gaze fixed on Innley.

"He returns now to show you of the damage that has been done, and only now do you weep. When it is _your_ life that has been so injured."

Her mother whined again.

"You think you are worthy of standing in judgment of _me_, of your own child, but you fail to judge yourself." He turned about beneath her, incredulous and accusatory. "And _I'm_ supposed to be the evil one?"

Samantha held her breath as she reached her full height, placing a palm on the wall, hoping to give herself a push-off.

"You possess a soul. A heart. A life of emotion and dream and I am supposed to be the empty one. But if that's so, then tell me how it is that _I_ can see the inhumanity in _you_?" His staff rolled across the floor as he turned again, never removing his eyes from the ceiling and her mother. "I will _make_ you seeeee…"

As his blackened tongue hissed out the final sounds, he shot his arm upwards, his staff in hand and Lady Mayweather seized violently in mid-air. Samantha had to look away as Innley's arm swung around and their mother flew so forcefully through the air, her body slamming against the wall with a sickening crack as though her bones were crunched from the impact and it was at that moment that Samantha bolted for the door.

She couldn't hear anything but her own breathing as she made it into the hallway, knocking over a vase from a side table in her rush to turn the corner and she slid on the rug, her hands finding the banister of the stairs, swinging around and hurling herself down, her heels skipping along the steps. She crashed into the wall at the turn, but she didn't stop moving until she hit the door. She groped for the handle and pulled but it didn't move; she pulled again but it was locked and her hands fumbled with the latch until it turned. She heaved the door open and the night air filled her nose with its acrid smoke but it was _who_ was standing on her doorstep that shocked Samantha into a full stop.

It was Corbinian.

He was wearing his golden armor but his sword, One-Cut, was damaged; the tip had been split down the middle and bent back in opposite directions in a most unnatural way. Long scratches littered his armor and there were several horrible-looking gashes on the side of his face. But he wasn't moving, nor did he seem to acknowledge her existence. He just stood there, his mouth agape and his eyes staring forward as if he were a walking corpse.

A creature stepped around the corner, with her purple horns and her metallic swirling eyes and that horrible girlish laughter that made Samantha realize that things in the city were much worse than she had thought.

And then everything turned black.


	17. 9:23 Dragon, Summer

AN: This chapter is a brief departure from the current events of the story. I want to take you back in time to revisit the events from chapter 1 - the night Sebastian was exiled - but told from Corbinian's perspective. The purpose is to reveal the full set of events of that night to the reader, and to spend some time with Corbinian, who will be mostly absent from here on out; but don't worry, there will be more chapters where Beenie will visit us again in similar fashion, because his story is not yet complete.

Thank you so much to JadeSelket for the reviews :) I love reading them! Thanks also to analect - I thank you often, but you deserve it.

This chapter is the last from Part I.

**9:23 Dragon, Summer**

_Oh, Maker, my head is killing me. Stop, stop__…__. I think I'm talking though I could be mumbling. Someone or something is poking me and, through very dry eyes and a hangover the size of the Amaranthine Ocean, I look up to see a pair of Royal Guards. Hugh and Keis, I think their names are. Oh, Maker, please make them stop yelling._

_Now they're carrying me – great, this is going to scramble my already-tender stomach and without fail I heave but nothing comes up. I have a vague memory of vomiting earlier just before I had to sit down. I think Sammie and Sebastian were there, and then the memory punches me in the face as I recall a few still images, like several paintings of a single scene: one moment followed by another a few seconds later, and then another. Sebastian had his hands all over her and I clench my jaw impulsively, almost too hard because the jolt resonates through my skull, making me dizzy. The next image is of Sammie trying to pull away, and then Sebastian is yelling, at least my memory tells me there is yelling, but I can't quite – oh the pounding, oh my stomach._

_Hugh and Keis aren't being unkind to me, but I'm no child. I've just turned sixteen and I am as tall and strong as any Vael and I do my best to try and walk on my own, but I can't even form coherent words._

_They deposit me on the floor of the main hallway of the Royal Palace. It's a curious place to put me, because I don't know what will happen if my parents see me, let alone the Prince of Starkhaven, my uncle. And then Sebastian is set down next to me. Like a gift. Perhaps "set" isn't the right way to describe it, as he is sort of slumped down, holding a cloth to his lip and now it hits me. She bit him. This bastard had his hands all over her and she was trying to get away and he wouldn't let her go and so she bit him. Ha! That's my girl. Well, okay, she's not my girl. At least not yet. I even told Sebastian this a few months ago while we were in the practice yard. I told him pointedly, even._

_I said, Samantha Mayweather is the girl for me._

_He laughed and said, She's more like a sister. We've known for her so long._

_I said, No, not her. She's the one._

_For one, she's beautiful. Delicate. Honestly, when people look at her, they don't look away. While she may not possess especially striking features like Arianna Marziano's high cheekbones or Flora Harimann's sultry eyes, she's still hands-down the most beautiful girl I've ever known. And then she opens her mouth to talk and I swear I've never heard a girl with such a tongue. I can't imagine ending up with some of these vapid idiots who talk of nothing but clothes and hair and flowers. What a waste. But, let's be honest, I'd also like to know what she looks like underneath all those clothes._

_I am remembering this conversation as I'm sitting__—__well, okay, I'm slumped against the wall__—__next to Sebastian and I can honestly say that I now know what murderous intent feels like because I'm so mad at him, not just for what he did to a girl, but for what he did to _my_ girl. I know it's not necessarily proper to talk of girls as belongings or possessions, but I am fairly certain that the Maker put her on this world for me._

_Anyway, the sun must have risen while we were sitting here, because light is streaming through the windows that the servants are now opening and Sebastian winces just like I do._

_Now, I should say that Sebastian is my best friend. While technically my cousin, he's always been my brother more than my actual brother and I've been his brother more than his own brothers and we both know this. This is probably why no one expects to find me punching him in the face, least of all me, but here I am. Punching him in the face. I am so angry, all I can see are his hands all over Samantha Mayweather. _

_But he's Sebastian Vael and he's built like me, inside and out, and so he fights back. He gets in a good hook to my ribs and I feel a crack and then a jolt of searing pain shoots down my right leg, and then I think I repeat her name through my teeth or something because he looks up at me and says her name back. And then I say, How you could do that to her? and then I grab him and hit him good, right on the nose and now it's his turn to crack as a gush of blood erupts and just starts pouring down his shirt, which I have to say, used to be nicer than mine._

_He's holding his nose and he says, Do what? What are you talking about?_

_That's when I realize that he really doesn't know. He can't remember that he essentially forced himself on a girl – _my girl – _and was rejected, and then blacked it all out in a drunken stupor. This multiplies my rage. I swear, if I had my sword in my hands at this moment, I really think that I would run him through. As it is, my fists begin flying again and the next thing I know there are more people involved in our fight, but they are trying to break us apart and__—__my arms still swinging__—__I am pulled off of Sebastian. Rather violently, in fact. But my own level of violence is escalating quickly and they have to restrain me, which is to say that I deserve what I get._

_We are separated. I am thrown into my room and in the hours that follow, a parade of people come through. First my father who yells at me like I have never been yelled at before, which is to say, that I actually have never been yelled at before, because I am royalty and mostly I go unnoticed until it's time to show me off. Like a steer. It's a new experience. Then my mother comes in and she is so disappointed in me. At least she says so, but her voice actually sounds bored. Then the prince, and his is the worst because he mostly just stares at me. I swear that man could give speeches with just his eyes._

_I know that I sound glib, but in between bouts of wanting to kill Sebastian and being treated for what I am told are broken ribs, I am actually scared out of my head. I've never been in trouble before. I have my studies and my duties but I can get away with a lot in Starkhaven simply because I have the name Vael. Guards keep my secrets. Maids wash my dirty laundry. Elven servants who just want nothing more than to be able to feed their families are paid off. I know it's not honorable, but I never much cared. Until now, honor didn't concern me as much as getting what I wanted._

_It takes several days before the Prince of Starkhaven, Sebastian's father, calls us before him. He says that he intended to call us sooner, but he was so mad, he didn't trust himself not to make some rash decision, which is impressive because exile is seen by many as rash. Which is what he tells Sebastian he is thinking about doing. He says that he had been thinking about it for a while._

_I have known Sebastian since I was two, and we've been in trouble fairly regularly ever since, but I have never seen him afraid, the way he is now. Even under those black eyes that I have given him, he can't hide that he is as scared as me, and then Sebastian's father asks us to explain ourselves._

_Sebastian's explanation causes me to question whether or not I can maintain control of myself in front of the Prince of Starkhaven. He essentially apologizes for what he has been told he has done: jumping in the fountain of Andraste, public drunkenness, and running away from guards. He says it was foolish and indiscreet. When it's my turn, I explode. I yell at Sebastian. In front of the prince. In front of the princess. In front of Sebastian's brothers and their wives and my parents and Goran, too. About what he did to Samantha. _To my Samantha_. I think I actually say that. I call him no different than a rapist, for if she had not been able to fight him off, then he likely wouldn't have stopped. And then I scream at myself for my own inability to protect her. I am infinitely more cruel to myself than everyone else has been._

_For some reason, no one interrupts to calm me down. They let me rail against him and myself but they're listening. Perhaps for the first time ever. And as I look at them, and they look at me, I start thinking about how they want to exile Sebastian from Starkhaven, from our home. It hits me that they are considering this punishment for me as well. My mind starts to race. I have a million thoughts at once. I see a million different paths and a million different lives. I know that I can follow a single point or a thousand roads. I can run away no matter what the prince says, to the wilds or some far away land. Remake myself, become a hero or a thief. But I'm standing here, and the prince is looking at me and I swear, all I can think about is Sammie._

_I can be a million different things, I say, but I would be nothing without her._

_I swear, I had no idea I was such a romantic._

_While I am only sixteen and a year older than Samantha, everyone understands that this is a very serious admittance. We're like swans, the Vaels. When we mate, it's for life._

_And then out of nowhere, I get this crazy idea and I volunteer to take the Oath of Starkhaven as proof of my vow to make things right, and it's then that the prince's expression changes. I can't tell to what, almost appraising, I think. My parents, too. Everyone in the room. And Sebastian. It's like all the punches I gave him earlier were nothing compared to what I just said. He finally sees how he has offended her. And me. His brother. And I am left, my fists shaking at my sides and my face red with rage._

_My uncle asks me, Who would you take the Oath for?_

_I glare at Sebastian and say, I would take the Oath for Starkhaven to protect the Samantha Mayweathers from the Sebastian Vaels._

_It's pretty harsh thing to say to a brother._

_I think it is these words that sentence him to his fate, because he doesn't protest exile. In a state of shock, I stare at him, but he won't look at me. As his father's secretaries are leading him away, I don't understand what just happened. Why would he just leave like that? Why would he say nothing about his own culpability? He didn't even apologize._

_My uncle then says he expects me to honor the Oath of Starkhaven. If I can honor our family name._

_My father speaks up and says that we have family in Nevarra City, and I can't help but wonder what the hell he is doing, but then he offers to send me away for a year to live with the Pentaghasts. Now, aside from my aunt who is as wonderful as a summer's day, the Pentaghasts are a rather cold family. They are strict. Punctual? Though many might call them solemn, I prefer humorless. The intention is that a change in my environment will provoke a change in me, and perhaps make me realize what I have here at home. Maybe it will make me appreciate it, and in no small way does Samantha Mayweather figure into this, because I am sure that my impassioned words about her swayed some of the people in the room to believe I have some redeeming qualities._

_In a matter of days I am on the road with my father escorting me to Nevarra City._

_It's a nice city. A lot like home. Of course, the Pentaghasts could have a palace in the dirtiest shantytown in Ferelden and it would still be luxurious. The only real difference between Nevarra City and Starkhaven are the crypts. The people here bury their dead instead of burn them on a pyre, which is weird. What are they saving all these bodies for anyway? Memories? Respect? All those husks of people just sitting there in some giant mausoleum. It's disturbing and, besides that, it's morbid._

_Every day I think about writing a letter to Sammie, but I know that I am not allowed. Even if I could smuggle it out, what am I supposed to say? Wait for me? I know we were friends before, but if I ever make it back, want to be more? My aunt suggests writing poetry to recite when I get back, which is such a ridiculous suggestion that I can't even laugh, which makes me fit right in with this family._

_I understand that this opportunity is my last, and I am grateful that everyone here in the Pentaghast family is so invested in my education. I am given lesson upon lesson about history, Chantry doctrine, magic, sword-fighting, and hours and hours of survival skills. The Pentaghasts made their fortune by adventuring, specifically by hunting dragons, and you don't hunt dragons from palaces. You hunt them in the wilderness, in mountain ranges, across oceans and deserts. These skills have been passed down from one generation to the next. I would think about my family and Starkhaven, and Sebastian and Samantha more often if I weren't so immersed in the world._

_There is only one enemy to fight out here. It's not the loneliness or the hunger, the exhaustion or the elements. It's the will to go on. I have to find it. I have to keep moving. I am a link in a chain._

_My uncles and cousins go for hours without speaking. They listen to the wind and smell the dirt and we are conquerors of nature itself, finding our way with just our bodies and our minds. I find myself out here, which I think is what I was meant to find. I breathe in the air and exhale out my past and I am born again._

_It takes ten months for Sebastian to work up the courage to write to me._

_He wants to see me. He wants to apologize. In person. He says he hasn't written to Samantha, because he wants my permission, and he intends to apologize profusely. He prays to Andraste for forgiveness every night, he says. He's terribly lonely at the Chantry. He looks for company anywhere he can find it and that includes yet more girls whose names he can't recall. He misses our home. He has dreams of running away from Kirkwall, but he has no money and nowhere to go. He is lost._

_It occurs to me why he accepted exile: he is a coward._

_He couldn't face Starkhaven knowing what he had done. Ashamed and embarrassed, he couldn't stand in front of everyone, admit his sins, and then promise to make things right. Like I did._

_I don't know what he's expecting from me. Absolution? Understanding? Of course, I am angry, but he is my brother more than my own brother. Brothers fight and I am certain that this will not be our last. I am also certain that things will change eventually, and perhaps given time, Sebastian will find what the natural world has given me, and that is to say, a sense of self._

_I receive and write letters regularly to my father and mother, the only ones with whom I am allowed correspondence. The letters describe what they are hearing from the Pentaghasts about me, news of Starkhaven and the world, and the various things they expect from me when I return. That is, they are hopeful that the prince will allow me to return. They pray for me. They ask me if I am praying for myself, but I don't have to anymore. I am going to be all right._

_Sometimes Goran writes to me. His letters are really short. It's sort of infuriating, because he's not as dim as everyone thinks._

_Samantha never writes to me. I guess I was hoping that she would find a way, but it's more likely that she doesn't even know where I am. I swear to myself that I will do things right when I get back. I will talk to Sammie. I will ask her father if I may see her formally. I will treat her with kindness and respect. I will never lay a hand on her without her permission. I will be a gentleman. Well, okay, let's be honest, I can still be as crass as I always am, because she's as wicked as me and I love that. I wonder if she's seeing anyone, and I wonder if my year-long absence will change things. I think that I think too much about Samantha. I decide that it doesn't matter if anyone is interested in her. I'm a Vael and defeat doesn't run in my family._

_I am now proud of my name for different reasons._

_I used to loathe it, really, and Sebastian and I bonded over the shared frustration. People fawned over us like being royalty is some grand thing, but we always felt that while everyone else had the choice to make their own destinies, we did not. There is some truth to this. Sebastian's brothers__—__one of whom will likely be prince one day__—__are not given the choice. Sebastian liked to joke that his parents had "the heir and the spare" and there wasn't much left for him. Imagine what's left for cousins. Sometime during my adolescence, it was decided that I would lead the standing army of swordsmen and Sebastian, with his impressive skill with the bow, would lead the archery regiments; our skills demanded to protect the freedoms that we were never granted and the titles that we had come to loathe._

_But to have the choice – that's all we wanted. I suppose that's what we rebelled against all those years. We were wild like a pair of tomcats; sneaking out of our homes, drinking, whoring, fighting, and generally stamping out anything good about our family name. We thought our family full of hypocrites, fascists, and liars. We were reckless, but we didn't care about our own safety, seeing the end of our lives occurring at a fixed point in just a few years' time when we were supposed to live up the family's expectations by assuming these roles._

_Now, I understand in retrospect how ungrateful I was for what I had._

_There is more freedom in my name that I once gave credit. I had the freedom to behave like a tomcat for one but, for another, I actually do have the freedom to choose my own destiny. I'm strong, an excellent fighter, and I've always enjoyed practice and getting better, and apparently I have a gift with words which will encourage men to follow my lead. I always had the freedom to be whoever I wanted to be, and I wasted so many years thinking that they were trying to define me, but that's cowardice. I choose who I am._

_That night in front of everyone, I chose Samantha and Starkhaven. Sebastian was incapable of making any choice at all, which now that I think about it, is not all that surprising. He's never been decisive._

_The prince finally arrives to see me. I am as nervous as an apostate in a room full of Templars, because I know that his visit will decide my fate. Will I get to go home? Will I be exiled forever like Sebastian?_

_We end up talking for hours. I've never really talked to him before, probably because I wasn't old enough. He tells me that he hears good things about me, not only from my parents but from the Pentaghasts as well. He tells me that he was very impressed when I volunteered to take the Oath of Starkhaven, which is a pretty old tradition and he was surprised that I even knew about it. I tell him that I still want to take it and I truly mean that. He instructs me to write a letter of apology to the Garritys for my behavior on their property that night, and I will dish it up gladly. Apologies of this sort are always for the receiver of such a note, and so I know that I will have to write a grandiose letter. It may be a pile of garbage in its embellishments, but if anything is clear from this past year, it's that I truly regret everything that happened that night._

_Then he tells me that I can come home which brings both relief and elation – home! He has big plans for me, though. He still wants me to embrace my responsibility to our home and earn the title of Captain of the Royal Army, and I am grateful to be given the opportunity. This isn't a title or position that is given to just anyone, and again I feel ashamed of how selfishly I behaved._

_I ask about Sebastian, but he tells me that his third son isn't ready to come home and isn't sure if he will ever be. He's still willing to give Sebastian a second chance! I suppose I shouldn't be surprised, because he gave me one. All I had to do was ask for it. Part of me feels like writing to Sebastian and telling him, but I know that I won't. For some reason, it makes me angry to know that while he wallows in his misery in Kirkwall, lonely for his family and his home, all he has to do is apologize and ask to come back, and yet he doesn't do that. It's pathetic that he is so unsure of himself that he can't even make the argument._

_And then my uncle tells me about Samantha._

_I am a Pentaghast in this moment. I am silent. I never look away._

_He tells me that she doesn't know where I have been for the last year. No one in Starkhaven knows, as the royal family and everyone with any knowledge has been sworn to secrecy, so that I would be truly disconnected from my home. He said that he intended for no one to know Sebastian's whereabouts either, but Sebastian told a servant or something as he was ushered out of town and within a few hours everyone in Starkhaven knew._

_During this year, the prince has followed my Samantha closely. He even assigned someone to watch her and judge her worthiness of a Vael – imagine that! As if she has to work to deserve me and not the other way around. He also tells me that Samantha is the kind of girl who will need protecting because she cannot fight harsh battles on her own. She is a smart girl and a survivor, and while biting the lip of a drunken amorous boy might get her out of a little trouble, she will never be able to fight her way out of something big. Someone else will have to fight for her. I have no trouble with this, obviously I will fight for her but he insists on this point. He also says that if I take the Oath of Starkhaven, I cannot abandon the city to save her. No matter what. It occurs to me now what he is saying._

_The Oath of Starkhaven is a pledge of fealty to the safety of the city and all of its citizens. If there should be some disastrous event, like a Blight, a dragon attack, or the Circle Tower explodes, my responsibility is to fight whatever is attacking the city. I am bound by the Oath and my honor to fight until the threat is dead or I am dead. I cannot abandon this cause to serve my individual needs, to save my family, to save myself, and I cannot leave my duty to save Samantha. This is part of the Oath. If I should break the Oath, it is a crime punishable only by death. There are no exceptions._

_I tell him that I still want to take the Oath. Starkhaven. Our home. Its safety is equal to hers. These are more important than my life. He is pleased by my answer._

_Then he mentions Innley, and I am quite stunned when he tells me that he is now in the Circle. While I'm processing this information – my friend, Innley, a mage – he is telling me how he finds Samantha's family to be of good breeding, but the recent news about her brother being a mage is marginally troublesome. While the curse of magic runs in all families, he says recent studies suggest that curse is stronger in the father than the mother. This is somewhat of a relief I guess, though it feels strange to be talking about this particular subject now and I tell him that I am not even sure she'll have me._

_He just smiles._

_He tells me how difficult the last year has been for her. How the nobles of Starkhaven have not been especially kind and there have been rumors about what really happened that night between me, Sebastian, and her. Her family combats these rumors and she isn't intimidated by them which suggests again that her family is of good character. He tells me that over the course of the year, when she has been able to speak to my parents and to Goran, she asks about me. She told Goran she missed me. He says that he is impressed that she would stand by me even as the rumors fly about her own reputation._

_I can't really put into words what this means to me, but my whole body is alive in this moment. She asks about me! She misses me! The words ring in my ears all the way back to Starkhaven and when I arrive late in the night, there is no ceremony. There is no contingent of guard waiting nor will be there a welcoming-back party. I have paid a penance for my sins, which doesn't deserve a celebration._

_The next morning as I am dressing for service, all I can think about is what I am going to say to her when I see her. How much does she remember? How much is proper for me to say? Should I mention Sebastian? Would this embarrass her? Maybe I could try to come up with something clever, something witty, something that will get her attention, but the truth is that I don't need to. I know her and she knows me. Maybe I'll think of something better when I'm in the moment, but it might be as simple as "Well, hello there."_


	18. 9:31 Dragon, Late Spring

**Part II**

_9:32 Dragon. The Starkhaven Circle is temporarily shut down, with the remaining mages and templars sent to the surrounding cities of the Free Marches._

_9:33 Dragon. Sebastian Vael avenges his parents, killing Johane Harimann._

_9:34 Dragon. The viscount of Kirwkall, Marlowe Dumar, is murdered by the Qunari. A Ferelden refugee and known associate of Sebastian Vael kills the Arishok during the First Battle of Kirkwall thus ending the siege, and is named Champion of Kirkwall._

_9:37 Dragon. A rogue apostate named Anders destroys the Kirkwall Chantry igniting tensions between mages and Templars throughout Thedas._

_9:38 Dragon. Sebastian Vael returns to Starkhaven._

**9:31 Dragon, Spring.**

Hues of pink and lavender colored the blurry images as Samantha opened her eyes. Her back was warm. Her chest was cool. Her head was filled with after-images that made no sense.

It took a few moments to wake, to push herself up from the cool grass and sit upright, squinting hard under a high sun. There was dirt on her nightdress and in her eyes and mouth, and she pawed at her face before she coughed it out, but the pain that ached from her neck down her chest made her stop almost immediately. Reaching up to her neck, she now felt the immediate tenderness and soreness and then she remembered.

_Innley._

She licked dry lips with a dry tongue and blinked dry, dusty eyes. When she dragged a hand across the sore, crackling lids, she momentarily forgot the terror of the memory, because as she blinked, clearing her vision, she could see that she was in the middle of a field of wildflowers and there was an enormous tree not far away. She coughed again without being able to help it and stopped again almost as fast from the pain. The grass was tall, but she could see just over the tips of the soft browns, taupes, and greens of the foliage. Looking up into the sunshine was followed by immediate dizziness. Looking down to the dirt was followed by a lurch in her stomach. There were tiny flowers crushed under her. Pink and lavender.

It took a bit longer to work up the ability to stand, and as she tried, she realized how thirsty she was. How hungry she was. How dirty she was. How bruised she was. Inspecting herself, she found yellowish-green splotches on her knees implying the bruises were many days old, and the memory of falling hard onto her parent's bedroom floor reminded her how much that had hurt… in every possible way. She found another bruise on her arm about halfway up to her shoulder, a long gash that was red and itching that stretched the length of her other arm, and while she couldn't see her back, she imagined there was a bruise there as well, given how much it ached. But her throat—her throat was the worst of it.

Once standing, she staggered a bit, her legs feeling too flimsy to support her as she turned about. A hand over her brow to shield the too-bright sunshine revealed her true surroundings and she saw off in the distance a city. It had to be Starkhaven. The chantry's spires were visible from the field.

Corbinian flashed across her memory like lightning and Samantha had a thought that maybe he was in the field with her somewhere, but her search proved fruitless, not just because she was so tired, not because of the pain, and not because her head swam with thirst and hunger, but because the field was too big for her to search on her own. She would have to send some guards out to search for him.

So she did the only thing she could: she started walking back to Starkhaven. Though the city was on the horizon, it turned out to be much farther than she anticipated; it took her more than an hour to reach it. During the trek, she had plenty of time to think. To remember every moment that lingered painfully, punctuated with images and smells and sounds and horrors too terrible to dwell on. More than once, she fell to her tender knees to vomit but just ended up dry-heaving because her stomach was empty. When she reached up to hold her neck again – the pain and soreness was unbelievable – she realized that the skin was bare. The locket was gone.

A bout of panic seized her aching throat, and she spun about on those painful knees, looking back at where she had come from, trying to remember if she had seen the locket on the ground where she woke up, but she remembered only the flowers beneath her. There was no locket there; it would have been shining out like a beacon under the glare of the sun. Maybe it was back at her estate. Maybe it was somewhere in between. Her mind began to search places far away that were surely disturbed in her absence – however long that had been.

Finding strength she didn't know she had, Samantha dragged her feet across the cool underbrush of the field, and each step took more effort than the last. Occasionally she stepped on something that hurt like a sharp twig or a rock.

But nothing hurt as badly as her heart. Because of Innley. There was no use pretending that he could be saved. He was an abomination. _There is no cure for possession._ The Grand Cleric's words rang in her head like the chantry bells, sermons flying across her youth like warning flags, one after another peppered with words like _abomination_ and _demon_ and _monster_. And it was all true, Samantha thought.

Her withered body wouldn't release tears as she remembered her father, and the last look in his eyes before he…. And her throat wouldn't allow any wailing when she wondered how long her mother lived after Innley— Samantha couldn't even say the words inside her own head. Her body would have let her fall to the earth and into the arms of the Maker, but Corbinian was out there somewhere and she had to go back to Starkhaven to organize a search party.

_Starkhaven_.

She remembered the thick black smoke pouring from the Circle tower and the streets blanketed in the smog, and she considered the possibility that it might not be safe to return. She worked through the logic of going back, but there was no other choice, really. She would likely die of dehydration if she didn't get something to drink in the next day. There was only one way to survive and if that meant walking into a demon-filled death trap… well, perhaps her death would be a kindness. So while Samantha wasn't sure He was still watching over her, she placed her life in the hands of the Maker, and prayed to Andraste to convince Him to let her live.

Once she made it to the cobblestone path that led to the eastern gates of Starkhaven, she knew that it was safe. For one, there were guards posted on the parapets and several more were milling about on the drawbridge, pointing off to the ramparts in the far distance and then out into the fields beyond the city's gates. As if they were in recovery mode. A guard must have spotted her ambling towards the gate, because someone ran out to meet her arriving quickly.

Samantha didn't recognize the woman, and she was wrong about assuming she was part of the Starkhaven city guard. She was a Templar.

"Oh, you're in bad shape. Come on, then." The woman lifted Samantha like she weighed nothing, carrying her to the group of other Templars and before Samantha let herself pass out, she heard a male Templar say, "Hey, I know her…"

_Mercury eyes. Purple horns. The clang of metal against metal. The shuffle of a dozen footsteps. Laughing. Endless laughing__…__._

She didn't know how long she slept, but she woke up in a dark room, on a soft bed, underneath a set of white sheets. There was a glass of water and a bit of bread on the table next to her and she took several gulps before her stomach started to lunge in protest and she instinctively stopped. As she nibbled on the bread, she heard voices in the hallway.

"Where did she come from?" a man asked, and his accent was Orlesian.

"Not sure, ser," a woman said. "She was walking from the east. Nothing out there but grass and dirt."

"Has she been evaluated?"

"Yes, ser. She is no mage."

"That's not what I meant." There was a long stretch of silence, and then: "All right. See what she knows."

"Me?" the girl asked, surprised.

"Yes," came the forceful reply. "You."

"I thought you would—"

"Do I need to ask someone else?"

"No, ser!" Her voice changed to obedient. "Right away, ser."

The man's heavy footsteps could be heard fading away down the hallway and then the female Templar appeared in the doorway. Her figure was clearly smaller than the armor she was wearing and she shrugged a little, adjusting her pauldrons. When she spoke, she sounded formal.

"You're awake, then? That's good."

"Where—?" Samantha's voice cracked and she reached over to take more sips of water.

"You're in the chantry." The woman stepped into the room and Samantha could see her face a bit more clearly. Her blonde hair stopped just short of her shoulders and a shelf had been cut to fall just above her striking blue eyes. Her skin was a few shades lighter than Samantha's, marking her as a foreigner to Starkhaven. "I'm Ruvena. What's your name?"

Swallowing the gulp of water was an effort, but she managed, rasping out, "Samantha Mayweather."

"Mayweather?" Ruvena seemed alarmed.

She thought she might start crying when Ruvena said her name. She was now the last Mayweather.

Ruvena reclaimed her composure. "How do you feel?"

Samantha shook her head, lifting her hand to her neck; it was still tender, but the soreness was greatly improved. But her throat was still on fire, and she took another gulp of water.

"A healer has been in to see to your injuries," Ruvena said, watching Samantha closely. "It looked like you were… choked. Beat up."

Samantha nodded through the memory and then she frowned. "Beenie."

"Sorry?" Ruvena stepped closer, not recognizing the epithet.

"Corbinian Vael." Samantha eked out his name. "I was with him… the last I remember…"The Templar's expression changed then as she stood up a little straighter, taking a very deep and long breath. "I'm sorry, but I need to ask you a few questions."

"Corbinian—!"

Ruvena looked distinctly uncomfortable.

"_Please_! Check the field—!" Samantha broke down into a fit of coughing before she could finish.

The Templar's gaze darted to the door. "I'll… I'll have someone check."

"He could be dying!" she croaked past the pain in her throat.

"Okay, okay!" Ruvena held out her hands, and she looked panicked. "I'll be back."

When she left, Samantha curled up against the pillow, feeling no relief as she drifted off into a restless dream of Innley, his black teeth razor sharp and his jaw opening wide, trying to devour her. She wanted to move, but she just stood there unable to move, and then she could hear the laughing again in all of its agonizing glory and Samantha shot up, bringing her hands to her eyes. There was a woman in a Chantry robe that just held her as she cried, whispering calming things, but the images were burned into her mind and she tried to keep her eyes open as long as she could so she didn't have to see them again.

Days passed, and healers came and went. Sisters arrived to pray, but Samantha just cried more at their impassioned words to the Maker. Beautiful words, sometimes in song and other times spoken in whispers, about love and forgiveness, about reliance and strength. She asked about Corbinian, but none of the sisters had any answers.

On the fourth day, a former member of the Starkhaven Royal Guard who was now a Templar recruit, named Hugh, arrived to inform her that they had searched the field in which Samantha had woken up, but found nothing. He also came to ask her questions, though the term _ask_ wasn't as clearly defined as Samantha thought. Hugh's interrogation, about mages and demons and what she remembered, prompted a fit of hysterical weeping that convinced everyone that Samantha had not aided the escaping mages.

Despite her personal tragedy, she learned that many of the nobles of Starkhaven had suffered similar tragedies. Arianna Marziano and her mother had survived by locking themselves in their wine cellar. Lord Marziano had donned his armor and his bow and stayed upstairs to protect his family. They never saw him again; no corpse, no sign of trouble, no nothing. It was like he had just disappeared into thin air. The Garritys, the Fortneys, and the widow Lady Preston had all survived with their own contingents of guards protecting their estates. The Luxleys had taken shelter beneath their home and barely survived the night, for they would later describe nightmarish sounds that came from the other side of their barricade. No one would ever doubt them once the door to the shelter was examined, because it was covered from one end to the other in long, deep gashes that resembled claw marks. Lord Kendall had passed away during the tragic evening; the stress caused his heart to simply stop.

It was Ser Traven who told her about the Vaels.

Samantha would have thought her tragedy the worst: her mage brother coming back to kill her parents right in front of her, but that was before she heard that the entirety of the Vael family had been brutally murdered. Down to the last child. The prince. The princess. Both of their sons. Their sons' wives. Their sons' children: four in total, ranging in age from two to seven. And both of Corbinian's parents.

Goran Vael was the lone survivor.

Corbinian was thought to have died in the Circle Tower, but the lack of a corpse and Samantha's account of seeing him on her doorstep that night contradicted these reports. After an investigation, the official story of his death was changed to possession. It was a fate that seemed entirely implausible to Samantha; Corbinian was strong, a fighter, he would never succumb to a demon. Ever. But her Beenie never came to the Chantry. He never sent any letters or flowers and no one had seen him.

He couldn't be dead. Samantha's mind refused to believe what her heart wrenched over, wracking her body until she couldn't take it any more.

When she wasn't tortured by Innley in her nightmares, she was haunted by Corbinian at every turn. Corners of the chantry that they had snuck into, phrases and memories that surfaced about the past, the future. She looked at her hands and saw them without his, she watched the bruises on her body heal and felt pangs of sorrow, because they were the last remnants of the time she had with him – no matter that she couldn't remember. And she fought hard to remember them, tormented with her eyes both open and closed because the answers were so clear in her dreams and left so quickly when she rejoined the waking world. She wanted to live her life asleep, comforted by memory alone. She routinely woke up screaming, managed to lose more weight before they put her on a special diet to make her gain it back, and couldn't talk without either crying or vomiting.

The horrors, the memories, the dreams. It had become a jumble in her mind. What was real and what was imagined? Was she awake? What did it matter when both were a different version of the same horror?

The healers said she was traumatized, and the physical symptoms were manifestations from her emotional and psychological trauma. They threw around big words. Samantha thought that maybe her body was alive, but her spirit was with Corbinian, and she felt angry that the Maker would spare her but take her Beenie to place at his side. No, he wasn't dead; was he?

They told her that four days had passed after the destruction of the Circle before she turned up outside Starkhaven's gates. Four days. Just gone. Several mages who were gifted with insight offered to help her, but she thought of Innley every time she saw someone's hands glow and refused. Fortunately, the healers didn't need to see her anymore, because after the first bout of screaming, they never came back. She had ignored Grand Cleric Francesca's warnings about magic and mages before. She would heed them now.

Ser Traven came to visit her often. His was the voice she heard at the city gates when Ruvena carried her back through. Ruvena wasn't actually a Templar, Samantha learned later. She was just a recruit and she and several other recruits, including Hugh, had left for Kirkwall shortly after that day she visited Samantha in the chantry. Because the Circle Tower had burned down, there was nowhere to put the mages, therefore it was quickly decided by the Chantry that those mages that remained would be sent to neighboring cities until the Starkhaven Circle could be rebuilt. In a matter of days, the Chantry of Orlais sent reinforcements to the city where they would accompany mages and Templars from Starkhaven to other cities: Nevarra City, Kirkwall, Tantervale, and Ostwick. It was a manageable affair, mostly because more than two-thirds of the mages in the Starkhaven Circle had either died or escaped.

That list of escapees included the name, _Innley of Starkhaven_.

Samantha did not correct the surname. Whatever he was, he wasn't her brother anymore, and the only person who knew this was Ser Traven. Samantha was grateful for a familiar and strong presence, because no matter how many times others came to visit her, mages were less terrifying when there was a Templar around.

She stayed at the Chantry for a little while, because she no longer had a home. After the destruction of the Circle, a thorough search of the city had produced a list of all those who still lived, the identified dead, and those who were presumed dead. They had named it the Survivor's Index, but everyone had been calling it The List. Samantha's name turned up on the _presumed-dead_ list along with Corbinian's, given the state of their respective families and eyewitness accounts, thus her estate had gone into probate. She had spent another ten-day in the chantry before someone thought to reverse her status to alive, which then caused a stir throughout Granite Circle.

Two days later, she was told that Goran Vael had come to see her but she had been sleeping and he had insisted the sisters not wake her. She figured he had come to talk about Corbinian.

A day after that, a broad-shouldered woman with long hair as black as the night came to visit. She wore the uniform of the Starkhaven Royal Guard and called herself Keis but also held the title of Specialist – the only one with such a title. She claimed to have fought beside Corbinian the night the Circle tower was destroyed, before everyone had become separated in the smoke, but her visit wasn't sentimental; she was there at the behest of Goran Vael. The new Prince of Starkhaven. The person who had appropriated Samantha's estate.

Her family's belongings were being catalogued for auction because the city needed funds to recover, and since everyone thought there was no living heir—and Samantha's uncle had been absent for so long that it was assumed he was either dead or he had no interested in the estate. Her family's estate was frozen, and she couldn't even step inside her once-home. Samantha's return to life had halted all of that. She was informed by members of the Chantry that she would need to start some formal bureaucratic process to reclaim her estate.

During her recovery, all the nobles of Starkhaven sent her cards offering her a home and near-royal treatment – they still considered her royalty, despite the lack of a wedding. Perhaps it was because they loved Corbinian more than Goran. He had been the taller one, more handsome, the stronger, the fighter, he had more confidence, and of course he had taken the Oath. Many were as distraught as Samantha at his passing, at least they made it seem that way.

While she healed, Samantha spent her time in the chantry figuring out what to do. The sisters and brothers told her not to rush herself; the answers would come, but she needed to grieve. It was not comforting to hear them say that she needed to feel pain. They were supposed to give her comfort but instead implied that they couldn't heal her despair.

"You should eat more," Traven said one day, sitting down next to her in the chantry's pews. He had stayed behind with the Knight Commander and First Enchanter Raddick to help rebuild.

It wasn't a day of service, but Samantha often spent her days in the Chantry pews, staring up at the statue of Andraste. A monumental pile of stone sculpted to look like a person. Samantha sometimes felt envious of her – she had been blessed with death at the moment she lost everything that mattered to her.

"We just need to find out what she likes." Keis took a seat on the opposite side, and Samantha wasn't sure why she was hanging around but felt too apathetic to dwell on it. "Hugh always liked oranges. Sometimes they would have some in the kitchen at the royal palace – you know how Lady Vael loved those mimosas—?" Traven smiled as he nodded. "We used to hang out in the kitchen and swipe slices. Man… I'd kill for an orange."

"They don't have oranges anymore?"

"His Highness doesn't like them," Keis stated this as a matter of record.

Samantha turned a set of tired eyes to Keis, "Goran likes desserts. If you find one made with oranges, he'll have them imported."

"She speaks!" Traven grinned. "Praise Andraste!"

Samantha gave a small smile.

"Careful," Traven warned. "Your face might crack."

But it already had. A thousand tiny cracks that traveled the length of her body and at any moment a breeze would sweep through the room and waft Samantha away, piece by piece.

"Now make her eat something, Keis. I'll see you later, kid." Traven placed a metal-gloved hand on her shoulder before he left. It was cold and heavy.

"The prince asked me to check on you." Keis' voice made the task sound routine.

"Goran?" This seemed strange to Samantha.

"High Highness," she corrected. "He wants to make sure you're taken care of."

"I've had many offers from the nobles about town."

"He wanted me to relay that the palace is open to you."

"So he sent a guard?" Samantha had a passing thought that the Prince of Starkhaven likely had an arsenal of squires and pages at his disposal to deliver all sorts of mundane messages such as this one.

"I'm not _a_ guard – I'm _your_ guard."

Well, of all the strange news that had been floating across the city, this had to be the strangest. Why would Goran assign Samantha her own personal guard? Keis' face was stone just like Andraste's, unreadable, and it didn't seem like she was going to volunteer any information.

Samantha sighed at having to ask, "Why?"

Keis never hesitated before she spoke. "If His Highness saw fit to assign me the sole responsibility of safeguarding your life, then he must have his reasons. Perhaps you should ask him."

"I'm asking you."

"He didn't order me to answer your questions. This is a courtesy."

She was so rude! "I don't need a guard."

Keis looked up at the statue of Andraste where Samantha's gaze had been affixed for weeks. Her smooth stone face, her blank stone eyes—no pupils, no eyelashes—her mouth an unwavering line, and her hair covered by what looked like a robe or a shroud. She was frozen in time. Who she was when she died was how she had always been and always would be. Everything before and after her death was wrought in an ever-changing landscape of politics and geography, of faith and violence, of slavery and dragons, of a world that Samantha felt so unrecognizable, she couldn't even begin to fathom it. Just as the world was now.

And then Keis asked, "Do you think anyone truly loved Andraste before she died?"

Samantha's eyes widened – Keis was speaking blasphemy, or she was about to.

Keis continued, still looking up at the statue: "Her parents? Not her husband. Maybe her followers, but they could have just been following a cause."

"This is the Chantry—!" Samantha's hissed, and she couldn't believe that this woman would openly question Andraste's followers.

But when Keis turned back, Samantha regretted ever crossing her for her moss-green eyes were thick with intent and her voice was darker than a nightmare. "Because clearly, no one ever loved her enough to guard her with their life, to sacrifice themselves in order to save her from that stake. She died surrounded by people who hated her and a man who took pity on her."

Samantha shrunk into the pew – who was this woman?

"Someone loved you enough to ask me to die for you and I accepted the responsibility as my duty to the city of Starkhaven, to the prince, His Royal Highness, and to my friend and captain, Corbinian Vael." Her eyes narrowed, burning holes into Samantha. "You may ask why and you may even get an answer, but do not tell me my duty is unnecessary, that forfeiting my life for yours is frivolous. It is an insult."

Samantha was afraid to speak but managed to whisper, "I'm sorry."

Keis turned those eyes back to the stone statue of the prophetess. "Andraste killed thousands of people on her Exalted March to free slaves – as she had been a slave. And though the world demonized her at the time, she held onto her conviction even though they eventually killed her for it. Just like those mages did." And then she added, importantly: "Just like Innley did."

The fact that she was comparing the renegade, murderous mages to the prophetess Andraste was shocking, but that name was a knife to Samantha's gut: Keis knew about her brother.

"That kind of conviction, that blind devotion to an ideology, it can lead someone to do all sorts of things." Her voice matched her gaze, steady and threatening. "Things like return to a city to hunt down those they didn't kill the first time around. To find and destroy all that they blame for their lot in life. Can you think of anyone with that kind of intent?"

Samantha thought of Innley: he had intended to kill her that night. It was part of the plan, yet she had ran from that room to find Corbinian on her doorstep with that— What that was, Samantha didn't want to believe. Maybe mages could come back, maybe demons who had been cheated would come back, maybe assassins sent in their place… These scenarios seemed outrageous and frightening.

"Suffice to say…" Keis leaned back in the pew, as though satisfied at having terrified Samantha into submission. "The prince would see that you continue to live."

"But the city is safe now. It's secure," Samantha dared to say.

Keis' eyes drifted to the corners, to Samantha. "This is not over. There will be more deaths. Just not yours."

And at Keis' words, Samantha slumped down in the pew, crumbling into a ball and trying not to cry in front of Andraste, who never cried, who never screamed in fear, who never even resented being burned at the stake.


	19. 9:31 Dragon, Summer

**9:31 Dragon, Summer**

Even the Maker's sun shining over the bright green gardens brought Samantha no joy. The curtains had been drawn wide, no longer allowed to shade her from the harsh, beautiful world, and all was quiet but for the soft scratches of Lord Garrity's quill into his books. Every so often, he would turn a page.

The study was her common place, and staring lifelessly out the window at yet another garden was the only hobby she had. The lack of rain turned most gardens to graveyards, but not the Garritys'. It looked like a painting, matte and false as the servants labored to keep the colors vibrant. Samantha found their movements fascinating as they lumbered to and fro, their backs hunched from the large planks of wood that sat heavily across their shoulders, pails hanging from the ends, sloshing with brown water. Men as skinny as sticks carried them while withered, worn women removed the pails and poured water here and there, methodically moving about from shrub to shrub. The servants would do this each morning until every last flower and tree in the Garrity's gardens had been sufficiently wetted and forced to live, to endure the elements of the world which worked against them in every way. Keeping alive what should be dead. Samantha wondered if that was true of her.

Lord Garrity tapped his quill against the inside of an ink bottle. They rarely spoke.

With all the survivors without homes, and with all the newly made orphans, the Chantry had grown crowded. Because she had offers for a home, Samantha had been kindly and gently kicked out. Lady Pentaghast had sent a special courier with more than a dozen packages – clothes, jewelry, portraits of the Vaels, and hidden inside the pocket of a long velvet coat, a handwritten note offering her a home – but Samantha felt a familial obligation to get her estate back, so she needed to stay in Starkhaven. Goran wanted her to stay at the palace, but she didn't know Goran that well and the palace was enormous, an empty tomb filled with the ghosts of her once-future family. Several other families had offered her their estates as well, and any one of them would have been a fine choice, but it was Lord Garrity she had chosen.

He had practically begged her to stay at his estate, explaining that he felt he owed it to Corbinian. He claimed that he had never formally accepted Corbinian's apology for that incident on the Garritys' estate grounds so long ago, and he could make amends by helping Samantha, whom he referred to as _Corbinian's widow_.

_Widow. Like Lady Preston._ Samantha felt tired.

Her first instinct was to turn him down because she didn't know his family as well as some others, but when he showed her the letter of apology he had received from Corbinian all those years ago, she had latched on and refused to let go. There were so many tiny mementos that were out of reach or gone, like her locket. All the letters Corbinian had written were stuck in a house that she couldn't access, but that letter, those words, they were real. It was like holding a piece of him in her hands; those words to someone else written in formality.

Lady Garrity had left for the year to stay with family in Orlais because _she needs time to recover from the horrible ordeal_. Samantha would have felt irritation if not for the weariness that consumed her.

Still, she received visitors and did her share of visiting other estates. Lady Luxley wanted to wax poetic on grief and death because of her daughter Helena, a loss that still haunted her. Vincent Tyler and his sister Gwendolyn were polite but not warm. In fact, Vincent's eyes were like steel curtains and Samantha imagined that he hated her because of Innley and Helena. Rumor had it that Helena hadn't been dating a Templar, but rather sneaking into the Circle to see Innley. That must have galled Vincent something awful, but Samantha could never tell. She had wanted to visit Arianna, but her friend had lost her father the night of the Circle Tower's destruction, and Arianna's mother had taken her to Antiva to finish the year in mourning with the only family they had left.

It was well known that Arianna and her father had been quite close, but Samantha never would have guessed at how much. When she was a little girl, Arianna's father would take her riding with him, and had a special saddle made so she could sit between his legs. When she was only twelve, they took a three month trip around the Free Marches, visiting every landmark that ever was, and to name a few: Urzara's tomb, the birthplace of the elven Grey Warden Garahel, the Twin Gates of Kirkwall, the blood-stained cobblestones of Ayesleigh, and Adain's home, preserved for tourists just outside of Markham. During her sixteenth year, Arianna's father had commissioned a large luxury yacht and sailed them as far south as Denerim and as far north as Rivain, stopping in Antiva to visit her birthplace where, upon docking, the young girl and her father had watched two men butcher each other over the price of fish.

Often, Arianna had said, her father would kick the servants from the kitchens and drag her into making some elaborate dish, just the two of them, throwing flour at each other and sneaking sweets from the cupboards. They spent parts of every day together, talking for hours as he never seemed to tire of hearing all of the things his daughter had to say. It was no wonder that Arianna's father had stayed in the house to fight off whatever came, hiding away his family and his prized daughter so they would not suffer a similar fate. There was still no word from him, not a whisper, not a corpse.

Samantha was in awe of Arianna's stories, and tried to imagine her own father like that, but the only image she could conjure was of a grumpy man who was more concerned with her appearance and knowledge rather than her preferences.

Loud clacking footsteps against the hardwood floors turned Samantha's attention to a small boy in the doorway. "Your Lordship," the boy said, his voice pitched high with youth. "A visitor."

"Show her in," Lord Garrity grumbled, not even looking up. He knew who the visitor was.

Royal Guard Specialist Keis was ever punctual.

She came to the estate regularly, inspecting Samantha, inspecting the grounds, inspecting Lord Garrity's guards, staying most mornings and all afternoons. Keis probed her for information about her health and well-being, followed her everywhere she went, evaluated each room before she entered, and likely reported her every word to Goran. When the visits got out to the nobles of Granite Circle, speculation began about a change in the tide of Goran's affections from Flora to Samantha. It made Samantha angry to hear these rumors, but she wasn't sure why.

"Lord Garrity." Keis stepped into the room and bowed her head in respect, but the lord of the estate just grumbled again. He had no say in the matter, and aside from the outward tolerance of Keis' presence, he never spoke a word about it.

"Lady Samantha." Keis bowed in her direction. The Royal Guard Specialist was formal, too. She never addressed Samantha in any other fashion and always gave short answers when asked questions. That day in the Chantry was the most she had ever heard Keis say.

"Hello, Keis." Samantha hadn't talked much all day and her voice came out quieter than she intended.

And thus began the battery of the same questions she had asked the day previous, and the day previous to that, and previous to that, and every day since Samantha had left the Chantry.

"You are well?"

"Yes."

"Any visitors?"

"No."

"Any post?"

"No."

In fact, Samantha had received no letters at all. Rumors were that no one was receiving any mail. Samantha had written a few letters, and it was agonizing that none had responded. At first, finding out that no one was receiving any letters was a relief, but it didn't take long for the frustration to settle in. She was intensely lonely. She missed her family. She missed her friends. She would have given anything to hear Flora's voice.

Benjamin was another story. He wasn't the most delicate speaker, especially when he brought the good news. Keis tensed at the ruckus coming up the stairs, but relaxed when they all heard the young Garrity laughing as though everything was once again right in the world. A servant boy opened the large doors of the study to announce him, but was cut off rudely.

"It's over!" Benjamin panted in the doorway, hunkered down with his hands on his knees.

Lord Garrity didn't look up. "What's over?"

Benjamin swallowed, standing back up with his hands on his sides. "The Blight! It's over!"

That made Lord Garrity look up. "What?"

"The Wardens! They live!"

Samantha shook her head. "You're not making any sense, Benjamin."

"The Wardens!" His chest heaved for breath. "The Blight!"

"Calm down," Lord Garrity boomed. "Speak plainly."

Benjamin swallowed hard. "The archdemon was killed a month ago! In Denerim. The Blight is over and _both_ of those Fereldan Wardens live."

Samantha thought that surely this must be a joke. The two Grey Wardens that had disappeared into the ether were alive _and_ they had defeated the archdemon in less than a year _and_ they had _both_ lived through it? She glanced at Keis, her eyes questioning, but the burly woman merely gave a nod of the head, indicating that this bit of news was true.

"And one of them is Ferelden's new king! His name is Alistair. Cailan's bastard brother." Benjamin grinned but he clearly saw that his audience was having a hard time believing the news. "I swear I am not making this up."

Samantha said the first thing that popped into her head. "King Cailan had a brother?"

"Really?" Benjamin scrunched his nose. "That's the only news you heard?"

Lord Garrity came to her rescue. "Infidelity is a sin, Benjamin. Maric was an honorable man, or so the stories go. It is not so strange that Lady Samantha would be confused by his impropriety."

"You can never tell what people are like by the stories, I guess," Benjamin said plainly, as if he knew the world better than everyone else.

That wasn't what she was confused about, but she didn't say anything. She turned back out to the gardens and wondered just how many people in the world had brothers who had died. How many people had to die in order to save a city? A country? A world born again from tragedy and strife, its people rallying behind its new leader. But the painted world was still grey underneath, and Samantha wondered if the canvas was ripped into a thousand pieces, would anyone even notice?

"A baby outside of his marriage," Lord Garrity bristled. "The very idea is an affront. How that bastard boy could possibly return and claim his heritage is a shame upon the country."

Benjamin shifted peevishly. "But that's not the point – the point is that Ferelden has a new king, the Blight is over and has been for almost a month, and so now we don't have to worry about the darkspawn crossing the Waking Sea and killing us all!"

Lord Garrity grunted. "Perhaps now those damn Fereldans will go back to their own country instead of adding to the poverty of the Free Marches."

"Better than the elves." Benjamin plopped down on a sofa.

Lord Garrity grumbled something in approval.

Samantha gave out a small sigh in annoyance. It was fairly impressive how they managed to turn an entire country's success story into a silver lining of their lives. How were they processing her then? A vessel for their overflowing generosity? As the days passed, she had begun to wonder why she was still staying here.

"Regardless," Lord Garrity waved the entire notion away with a large hand, his other scratching his whiskers. "I suppose that's fine news. Will there be celebrations?"

"I haven't heard anything from Go—uh..." Benjamin shot a look at Keis. "From the prince."

It was an adjustment for everyone to make: Goran Vael was the new Prince of Starkhaven. Rumors were that it was even new to him. Seemingly artless in nearly all his endeavors, he was handling this new responsibility with absenteeism. When speaking of him, everyone seemed to mind their manners around Samantha, whether it was because she was once engaged to his brother or because of Keis.

Lord Garrity grumbled something about luck and the Maker's plan before he announced convincingly, "Don't you worry, Samantha. Your petition will not get delayed. I will see to it myself."

Samantha gave a small smile. "Thank you, Lord Garrity."

Her family estate included holdings and bank accounts that would provide her with the life of luxury that she had grown up with, but truthfully, Samantha wasn't sure she could handle getting her actual home back. How could she be in the same house that Innley had tortured and killed her parents? How could she sleep in the same bed that she and Corbinian had shared so many times? How could she set one foot into Innley's old room, the one with the view across all of Starkhaven to the husk of the Circle Tower, which had been burned down to a blackened wiry mess? It now looked like a dead tree.

Benjamin propped his feet up on the table in front of him, "Samantha, you should come with me to the stables. We could go for a celebratory ride."

"A fine idea," Lord Garrity added.

"I don't ride."

"What? I've seen you—"

"I don't ride, Benjamin," Samantha mumbled, growing weary in his energetic presence. "I never have."

"Oh." He seemed to think about that. "I suppose that was Flora… well, we could go for a walk through Granite Circle."

She thought about her walks with Corbinian after service and shook her head.

"We could… tour the gardens of the estate?"

Samantha shook her head again, trying not to cry. This was terrible, of course. Immersed in her grief, she couldn't even find the will to politely refuse. She could almost feel Keis sighing.

Benjamin lifted his hands up slightly in exasperation, looking to his father for support.

"You haven't left the house in a week, dear. Not since service." Lord Garrity was being gentle.

Everyone seemed to be overly preoccupied with Samantha's emotional state. They all insisted that she _move on_, whatever that meant. How was she supposed to do that? What did that even mean? And why would she want to leave all those she had loved in the world? Just because they had left her prematurely didn't seem like a good enough reason. Like she was somehow betraying them by willing her heart not to ache for their presence.

Her father with his glasses and books. Her mother with her letter-writing and insipid conversation. Her brother with his innocent charm before he turned into a monster. Her Beenie with his cheeky grin and immovable body. And Vael-blue eyes. And his lute. And his sword. And climbing through her window. And their private jokes about Lord Kendall, whose death only heightened her sense of loss. Even their shared jokes were dying.

Before she even realized it, she was weeping. Broken down and put back together in a bed with a nursemaid and a cloth dripping with warm water. Floating down a salted river, its bank lined with blackened trees and a sky grey with ash and Andraste's stone stare into nothing. She woke up only to turn over and drift away again.

"My lady." A soft-spoken maid touched her shoulder. "My lady, please wake."

Samantha cracked an eyelid to spy a young elven girl who spoke with a perfect Starkhaven accent. Clearly, she had lived here her whole life.

"My lady, you have a visitor. She insists on seeing you. My lord asked me to rouse you."

Samantha turned over onto her back, bringing her hands to her eyes which stung hot with old tears. With the maid's help, she lifted herself to a sitting position, and noted Keis leaning against the far wall, her eyes focused out of the large window. She was always looking out of windows.

"I don't want a visitor," Samantha whined.

"She insists, my lady," the elf said, holding a hand mirror.

Samantha lifted the mirror to her eyes and it didn't soften her. Her golden brown skin was tinted unevenly with shades of blotchy pink, and the dark circles under her eyes masked the youthful girl below. Her hair was a disaster, knotted and flying off her head like a witch in a storybook. She also had a set of lines down the side of her left cheek where the pillowcases had indented her skin. She must have slept very still for a while.

"Maker," Samantha whispered in lament, and the shell of a girl in the mirror mocked her with fatigue.

The elf girl moved closer with a hairbrush and some powder, items produced from somewhere out of Samantha's view. "Here, let me."

She brushed Samantha's hair and applied the powder to Samantha's cheeks and eyes. The elf smoothed out her clothes and fetched a glass of hot milk with a tablespoon of honey for her throat, all the while silent and determined, her enormous emerald eyes darting over Samantha like a bird's twitching. Like she was seeing the world but not really understanding it.

"There," she sat back, lifting the mirror again, and Samantha had to admit that this elf was worth every silver piece the Garritys were paying her.

"Who is she?" Samantha asked the elf about her visitor.

But it was Keis who answered. "Some girl from the Chantry."

That was rather odd as no one from the Chantry made house visits, not even to the nobles. Perhaps Samantha had left something there and this was their courier, but she couldn't think of a thing she could have left behind.

Samantha asked Keis, "What does she want?"

"She has letters for you." Keis didn't move from the window.

_Letters_! Samantha's heart sang. "You talked to her?"

"Yes."

"What did she say?" Samantha watched the elf girl leave the room, likely fetching the visitor.

"That she had letters for you," was Keis' reply.

Turning back to the doorway, Samantha rolled her eyes in annoyance. Keis didn't talk much but when she did, her tone was biting and her words were curt.

There was another knock as someone lighty tapped on the outside of the door, and a very young girl entered the room. She was small, pretty, and her voice had a distinct Marcher accent. She curtsied politely at the door. "My lady."

"Come in." Samantha patted the bed at her side and the pretty girl moved into the room.

She walked like she was skating on ice, gracefully moving across the plush rug, lifting the skirt of her robe up as she sat down on the bed, smiling. "I am a chanter. My name is Taletha."

Samantha forced herself to smile back, trying to hide her anxiety about the letters. "A pleasure to meet you. I hear you have letters for me?"

"Yes, my lady. But before I give them to you, I must tell you why I have come personally." The girl folded her hands on top of her lap. "I am here at the behest of the Knight Commander of Starkhaven. The Templars are hunting mages and the sisters and brothers of the Chantry are quite busy with the influx of orphans and those in need since the night of the Mage Rebellion."

So that's what they were calling it now. Samantha groaned inwardly. At first it was just _The Destruction of the Circle_, and then it became _The Tragedy at the Starkhaven Circle,_ which morphed into _The Rebellion at the Starkhaven Circle_, and the last Samantha had heard, they were calling it _The Second Mage Rebellion of Starkhaven_. The first, of course, being Adain. Always back to him. Were they going to settle on a name or not? The only reason it mattered was because everyone was talking about it, and Starkhaven's finest could not simply refer to an event without a name. An event without a name was not an event.

"The Knight Commander has tasked the chanters with delivering the delayed post. You see—" Taletha pulled a small stack of letters from inside the sleeve of her robe. They were folded neatly on top of each other and tied together with string. "—it is his sworn duty to hunt down the missing apostates, those that escaped the Circle and the Templars' chase. He is using every means necessary to find the murderers of the Vael family and your family, and so many other families. He believes that many still reside in Starkhaven, hiding in the alienage, Ilian's Square, or perhaps even Fyruss' Reach. These are all places where nobles like you never set foot, but they would be ideal hiding places for apostates."

_Ilian's Square_... Samantha could have laughed out loud. This girl was clearly not from Starkhaven or else she would know that Ilian's Square was where the merchant's set up shop, so named for the prince of Starkhaven that had legalized it. Sometimes, Samantha wondered if prince's made laws just so they could attach their names to buildings. Nevertheless, Ilian's Square would be a fool's errand, because it was one of four squares that was connected by Olran's Park. The others were Penellian's Square, the cultural district, Mythan's Square, where the most expensive eateries were, and Vanguard's Square, which was devoted to Starkhaven's military. The formal training yards, the barracks, and the Court of Justice, they were all within walking distance of Ilian's Square - why would mages hide there?

Fyruss' Reach was much more likely. It was the part of town that was furthest away from the royal palace, and was so named for Starkhaven's foolishly prideful king, back when they had a king. Fyruss had attempted to unite the Free Marches and form his own empire in 2:15 Glory. His advance to Antiva thirty years later had ended badly, betrayed by Starkhaven's then-allies, Tevinter, who promptly conquered the city and held it until the First Exalted March in 2:80 Glory, where Andraste marched to her freedom… and her death. History remembered Fyruss as too proud and too stupid to realize the limitations of power and the draw of freedom. Andraste taught everyone that lesson, and Fyruss' Reach became a lesson for every Havener since.

The alienage was on the other side of the Four Squares, and Samantha didn't know what it looked like because she had never been. Taletha was right; she had never had a reason to go there.

Taletha went on with her practiced speech. "Information about the missing apostates is relayed in many ways. There are conspirators and sympathizers – the Knight Commander knows this is true. These people often communicate through special couriers and by the post. As such, he has detained all letters, inspecting each of them for evidence of where the missing mages have gone."

"The Knight Commander reads our letters?" Samantha spoke naively. It wasn't necessarily a question, but a statement of surprise. A man, a Templar, read the nobles' letters. Lord Garrity must be furious. Lady Preston must be beside herself.

"It is for everyone's safety." Taletha smiled sweetly. "And once the letters are cleared, they are delivered."

Samantha glanced over at Keis who was still looking out of the window.

"Have you found any mages?" Samantha had a momentary fear for her brother, not that Innley was stupid enough to stay around Starkhaven – if he still lived. The last thing she truly wanted was the Knight Commander of Starkhaven breathing down her neck, asking her questions about her abomination brother. Aside from his unsettling gaze upon her at every moment she saw him, she heard ridiculous rumors about the Knight Commander that couldn't possibly be true: that he could cleanse magic in the alienage from Granite Circle, could kill a mage with a thought, and drank pure lyrium for breakfast.

"There are many leads," Taletha continued. "Many are sought for questioning, mostly those labeled conspirators and sympathizers. The Knight Commander and First Enchanter of Starkhaven and the Knight Commander of Kirkwall are working together in such pursuits."

Murdering maleficarum, dead brothers, lost loves, and now the conspirators and the Knight Commander. This was madness.

"I have heard of your loss." Taletha's soothing Marcher voice sang of sympathy as she held out the letters importantly. "If you should need anything, _anything at all, _come and find me at the Chantry."

Samantha accepted the letters into her hands. "Thank you."

Taletha stood up, curtsied again with a smile before she left the room.

Inspecting the letters, Samantha recognized the handwriting immediately: two letters from Flora and one from Sebastian! Her eyes immediately brimmed with tears and she thought she might rip into them right then, but a quick glance up revealed a very intrigued Keis no longer looking out of the window, but instead watching Samantha.

"Would you mind waiting in the hallway?" Samantha was tired of crying in front of people, mostly especially Keis.

"Why?" Keis was still leaning against the window.

"Surely, the concept of privacy isn't lost on _you_, Keis."

In a rare display of emotion, the corner of the Royal Guard Specialist's mouth twitched up, and secretly Samantha congratulated herself for affecting her. Keis was the most private person she had ever known; she knew next to nothing about the warrior, other than she took her duty very seriously and was never late.

"You'll tell me if there's anything suspicious in those?"

This was a minor victory, and Samantha promised she would.

With a sigh, the tall woman lifted herself from the wall, the joints of her mail undertunic softly sighing as she moved across the room, closing the door behind her as she disappeared into the hallway. But Samantha imagined that was as far as Keis went.

Samantha unrolled the dry parchment of Flora's first letter. It was dated early summer. Two months after the Circle's destruction.

_Dearest friend Sammie,_

_Sebastian was just here with the glorious news that you are alive! We all thought you dead, because the Chantry's list of casualties had your name on it. The Maker must have heard our prayers, because the latest Survivor's Index had your name moved to the column of those who had survived! I surely hope that you weren't raised by forbidden magic, Sammie!_

_Needless to say, we are all in stunned shock over the death of the Vaels. The entire family… It's unfathomable. It was only the news of your miraculous survival that has lifted me from my despair, for surely if you live, then perhaps there are others whose names were placed on the wrong list! After seeing your name moved, we are holding out hope that other names we know appear on the next list. I will pray to the Maker each and every night that one of those names is Beenie's. I cannot imagine what you are going through – I wish I could be there._

_The moment Sebastian left this morning, I asked my mother to travel back to Starkhaven, but she won't let me go. We've heard that Starkhaven has closed its gates to travelers coming in or going out in an effort to stop any mages that may be rooted in the city somewhere, but I bet I could get in. I am familiar with sneaking in and out as Kirkwall's gates have been closed to the Fereldan refugees, and only those who have been able to buy their way in are here. Surprisingly, there are quite a few refugees that have made it in. I guess City Guard pay is too low to turn down silvers._

_Samantha, it goes without saying that as soon as you are able to travel, you are welcome to come and stay with us in Kirkwall. I know I made it sound terrible before, and trust me when I say that it's not Starkhaven, but a change of scenery might be what you need. You are probably surrounded by so many memories… maybe you should get away from them for a time._

_Please write to me._

_Love, Flora_

The second letter from Flora was dated late summer:

_Dearest Sammie,_

_I haven't heard from you. I hope my letters are getting through._

_We got another list today. At first, we held out hope for more names to be moved to the Survivors column, but it seems as though every week, the names move in the other direction. It's difficult to be so far away from our home when all these horrible things are happening. The list this week included Lord Marziano. Have you seen Arianna? I wrote to her, but she hasn't written me back, either._

_I offered to put you up here before, but truthfully, I am considering running away. Things are getting weird with my family. Maybe it's the Blight or what happened to the Vaels or the Qunari presence in Kirkwall, but they seem unhinged and I can barely deal with them anymore._

_First, I caught Ruxton coming out of a brothel the other day! He didn't seem to know what to do or say, but I figured we all have to grow up sometime, right? I think maybe he's lonely but I'm not going to be the one to put him back in his shell. Second, Brett has become obsessed with the family heirlooms. He brings them out of storage and displays them around the house, as if to show the world that we are rich and wealthy and important; it's vulgar! My mother spends all of her time in the basement trying to perfect the expansion of our house, and none of us are allowed down there. My father is barely at home anymore. As for me, I spend most days trying to run a household that seems intent on falling apart. All this craziness has been giving me headaches, sometimes so bad I wake up without realizing that I fell asleep. But don't worry about me, Sammie. I just need a holiday. If you do come, I think you and I will find an inn._

_It would be nicer if I saw more of Sebastian, but he has been in seclusion for months. He doesn't even come out for service. The Grand Cleric says he is grieving and he needs time, but Sebastian was never one to grieve. I remember the look in his eyes when he came to our house that day to tell us you lived… I think he's angry. I think he's planning something, but I can't exactly do anything about it when he locks himself inside that temple._

_I'll keep writing._

_Love, Flora_

Samantha's heart pounded for Flora, her best friend, miles and miles away with a family that was falling apart too slowly, unlike Samantha's life, which had been ripped open and bled dry all in a single night. To visit Kirkwall seemed at once frightening and dangerous, with so many apostates out there, and so many demons… and Innley.

_Innley of Starkhaven..._

The letter from Sebastian was actually still sealed. This was confusing, because Flora's letter's seals had been broken. When Samantha opened it up, she saw it was dated in midsummer.

_Samantha,_

_I pray to the Maker that this letter finds you. I knew something was amiss because it isn't like you not to respond to a letter. This may come as a surprise, but this is my fourth letter to you and up until a few days ago, I didn't understand why I hadn't heard a response._

_It took some investigation, but I have learned that all letters are going through the Office of the Knight Commander. The letters are opened and examined for content about escaped mages which under these types of circumstances is not unusual, but it seems like all of my letters were confiscated, and I have said nothing about mages. I had to send this letter with a courier that the Knight Commander cannot touch, a chanter named Taletha. To send me a letter in return, hand them directly to her._

_My questions about my family's death have gone unanswered and I apologize sincerely for the indelicate nature of these inquiries, but I need your help. How did Goran survive that night? Why didn't the mages come to my family's aid? The official causes of death were listed as "magic-related" for some of the Vaels while others are listed as "by the sword". This doesn't make sense. Why would these renegade apostates go to all the trouble of escaping the Circle to break into the Royal Palace, risking death and recapture, to murder my family? With swords?_

_Finally, I know how much you and Corbinian loved each other, for no gift from the Maker could be greater, and I know that right now nothing I can say in this letter will take away your suffering. If I can offer anything it is to take comfort in the words of Maker. In His light, we are never alone._

_Maker keep you safe,_

_Sebastian_

Sebastian was a smart man; he had always been. Whether he was sweet-talking some girl out of her dress or drunkenly showing off, he had always known just what to say and how to say it. Maybe it was a Vael thing, this gift with words that Goran had somehow failed to inherit, because Sebastian had asked all the same questions that many in Starkhaven had been asking. Most especially about the new prince.

Goran claimed that he had hidden in a closet the entire night. This story was confirmed by the guards who had found him. They had swept through the palace looking for survivors and cataloguing the dead, eventually coming to understand that he was missing. It took hours to find him, curled up on the floor of a closet in an unused bedroom in his family's wing. They said he was buried under a pile of furs and completely hidden until he moved out from under them, wide-eyed and terrified.

The merchant class of Starkhaven had taken to calling him the Cowardly Prince. It was a nickname that many of the nobles never used out of deference to the prince's seat, but they didn't argue with it either.

There was a single knock on the door and Keis cracked it open. "Well?"

"Well what?" Samantha grew more intolerant with every knock. "They're letters! From my friends."

"Flora and Sebastian," she stated, but it was a question.

"Yes," Samantha hissed quietly, trying to find her manners in the fatigue of her grief.

Keis seemed satisfied with that answer. "May I come back in? Or do you require privacy to cry?"

Maker, she was rude! Samantha rolled her eyes. "No, you can come in."

Keis closed the door behind her before she resumed her post, leaning against the window, her eyes fixed at some point outside, her armor sighing into silence. The sun caught the metal and reflected tiny half-moons onto the ceiling that twitched every so often. It was the only way that Samantha knew Keis still breathed.

She watched them for a time, letting them hypnotize her into sleep as she clutched the letters to her chest, comforted not by her guardian's company nor by the Maker's Light that reflected off her guardian's armor, but instead comforted by the words of her friends, littered on parchment, and sent into the bitter world to see what fruit they would bear.


	20. 9:31 Dragon, Autumn

**9:31 Dragon, Autumn**

Goran Vael never moved very fast. Most of the time that Samantha had spent with him, she hadn't seen him move very much at all, so it came as somewhat of a surprise to see him jump to his feet so quickly.

He had been seated in the Prince of Starkhaven's chair at the head of the table in the Grand Room. It was called Grand not for the lavish decorations, but because grand things tended to happen there.

When the famed elven Grey Warden Garahel came through to call the bannermen of the Free Marches during the Fourth Blight, he had called those banners from this room. When the last Champion of Starkhaven was named, it had been done in this room. When the former Prince of Starkhaven had exiled his own son, Sebastian, to the Chantry in Kirkwall, he had done so from this room.

Samantha had initially gone to the Justice Building to speak to the Special Council on the Restoration of Starkhaven—a group of men and women elected by the Starkhaven Council to deal with land disputes and advise on courses of action—but she never got a chance to tell them why she had come. She had only gotten as far as her name before they all jumped to their feet in recognition of the fiancé to the late prince's nephew. At first, they were beside themselves with sympathy, but then she was ushered through a series of hallways and found herself in the Grand Room, a place which she found intimidating. Goran sat slouched in the Prince of Starkhaven's chair, but upon the sight of her, he had jumped to his feet faster than she'd thought he was capable of doing.

He blinked a few times, a little slow to react but nevertheless intent as he walked around the enormous round table. Roughly a dozen women and men in various forms of formal business attire were seated at it, rummaging through mountainous stacks of paper and quills. Goran clasped Samantha's hands into his own, which weren't as clammy as she always imagined, but rather soft. Soft like someone who had never held a sword. Soft like a lady's hands.

It had been more than a year since she had really seen much of Goran, and more than three years since she gotten a good look at him. Whether it was during Chantry service or at some formal event, he was always far away, but now up close she could see that the years had changed him. Where Corbinian was masculine and handsome, Goran had a unique, striking beauty that seemed at once effeminate and dangerous. He had been a pudgy kid, but now as a man in his early twenties, he had grown into his body. He was solid, yet svelte; tall and strong like a Vael, but graceful like his mother.

"You live," he said softly.

"So do you," she answered.

He was completely ignoring Keis, who stood rigidly in the doorway, but so was Samantha. She was absorbed in his eyes – those Vael-blue eyes that she knew so well. He looked right into her and she could see her own sadness reflected back; he had lost his whole family, too.

He didn't blink. "Whatever it is that you need, you can have."

"I want my family's estate."

"Done."

"Er—" A spindly man with long, red hair stood up and spoke slowly. "Your Highness, there are channels to go through. Documents. Procedure. This is a matter for the Council."

"Oh." Goran seemed disappointed, but he didn't argue.

"But I have been waiting for eight months," Samantha complained to the man, not really knowing who to talk to anymore. "It's my estate. I am the heir. My uncle wouldn't want it!" _And I don't want to live with the Garritys forever_, she added silently.

"Yes, well," the man answered awkwardly. "You have to understand how this works. We can't just _give_ it back. You have to petition, and we have to review it. There's a waiting period for matters of wills and inheritance. You will be assigned a liaison, but be warned, we are backed up quite a ways—"

"I was nearly killed!" Samantha began to forget her manners through her still-tender grief. "My home was taken away and I just want it back!"

"It's how these things are done," the man said gently, but he clearly wasn't a gentle man.

"Put her at the top of the list," Goran said to the man, who nodded in triumph and sat back down. The prince then turned back to Samantha, still holding her hands. "Where are you staying?"

"With Lord Garrity."

"Oh, right." He seemed confused by that, and then turned back to the table full of bureaucrats. "Can you finish without me?"

They all nodded their heads wearily. Some of them were pinching the bridge of their noses and removing their glasses as if they were used to this abandonment, but Goran didn't seem to care.

He should have offered her his elbow as propriety would demand, but he held her hand instead as he led her from the room, through a series of hallways, through the Main Hall of the Justice Building and into the crisp autumn afternoon. They traveled through Starkhaven's streets without a word, and Samantha didn't try to speak, too distracted by the gawking onlookers. Entire groups, many of them families that she knew, stopped in mid-conversation to bow and curtsey as the prince passed, shifting their gazes to her curiously and then putting their heads together in whispered gossip.

Finally, they turned on a familiar path and Samantha saw the palace gates looming ahead.

"Where are we going?" she asked nervously.

"I can't stand it in that building," he muttered in answer. "It's so stuffy. There's no light."

He led her through the wrought iron gates, where the ivy crept up the bars, and through the enormous double doors into the main hallway of the palace, where the ceiling hovered in darkness three floors above them. Goran didn't stop as he led her up a flight of stairs and through another series of hallways that alternated between darkness and light cast from the windows. The dust that puffed up from their passing made Samantha sneeze; these evidently weren't well-traveled corridors.

Eventually, they turned into a giant room that looked very much like Samantha's mother's sitting room, but with much nicer furnishings. She remembered her mother's green chairs with pink cushions. Lemon cakes and sterling silver tea pots. Sheer curtains that were always closed, hiding the Tyler Estate's rhododendron bushes. But in this room, the single large window along the far wall had its curtains drawn back, letting in a stream of soft sunshine. Samantha wandered over, squinting through the yellow light to see the Royal Gardens, and in perfect view was the giant fountain surrounded by calla lilies – Goran's mother's favorite flower. But the lilies were wilting under the autumn sunshine, and Samantha wondered if there anything left in the world that didn't die.

"I read the report," Goran said, gesturing to one of the sofas that lined the walls. It was the standard conversation-starter these days, as if everyone wanted Samantha to know that she didn't need to recount what had happened. Or perhaps that they understood something, as if reading a written account and understanding what happened were the same thing. But Goran wasn't just anyone. He was the prince. He was also Corbinian's brother. "You saw Beenie?"

She nodded and the hope in his face made her heart ache. How was she going to live without her Beenie? It wasn't the first time that thought had occurred.

"The report said…" He paused, taking a breath and sitting down beside her. "Well, it said you saw him, but he looked funny."

She nodded again. In between fits of despair, she had told the Templars that Corbinian had been standing at the door, his expression blank and his skin ashen, which was true. But in the haze of her memory, she could clearly see those eyes, metallic and swirling... and then the laugh. She'd told the Templars, but the questions that followed had no answers. She hadn't known what it was, and she hadn't been able to tell what it was doing.

She hadn't seen anything else.

"The Templars think he was in the possession of a demon." Goran's voice thinned out before he started shaking his head, little vibrations like a leaf in the wind. "But I just… Not Beenie."

Samantha hesitated, not wanting to talk about this. "I don't know what it was."

He didn't seem to have heard her. "Whatever it was, he's likely fighting it right now. I've sent out a group of guards – as many as Starkhaven can spare – and they are looking for him."

Was it foolish to hope he was still alive? After all, they had thought Samantha was dead and she wasn't. Goran seemed so certain, but Samantha feared that holding on to the hope of Corbinian's survival was too risky. She couldn't lose him again. Once in a lifetime was enough.

"I know him," was all Goran said before he let go of her hands.

He rose from the sofa, traveling the length of the room to a desk, and opened up a drawer. For a fleeting moment, she thought maybe he had found her locket, but instead he lifted out a seal.

He walked back and pressed it into her palm. "Show this to any guard, anywhere in the city, and they will bring you here. Show it to anyone in the palace, and you will be allowed entry in any room. I want you to move in."

She felt a bout of panic. This house. Full of ghosts.

Goran scrunched his brows together, a common gesture for him. "There's plenty of room, and Keis will be able to keep an eye on you more easily from here."

"That's very kind of you, Goran—"

He was so intent. "You are still my family."

_Family_. The way he said it sent flutters through her stomach, but she didn't want to cry in front of him.

"But the Garritys—"

"They can't protect you."

"Protect me from what?"

From the way his eyes shifted, she knew what was coming was not the whole truth. "You've been through a lot, and your parents' murderer has not been caught…"

He meant Innley, of course, and though she understood that the delicate nature of her loss made him refrain from saying the name, a pang of sorrow echoed through her chest nonetheless. She swallowed, trying to hide her torment. "I'm fine there."

He seemed disappointed, but said, "Samantha, Beenie loved you. I know that you may not be ready yet, but someday soon, I want you to come and live here. Think about a date." He paused, smiling weakly. "It'd be nice to have a family again."

Did he need her to come here for her safety or for his comfort? He seemed so insistent, so determined, and because she didn't know him very well, she found it hard to gauge his intentions.

"Maybe spring…" She wasn't sure about that, but looking at his eyes revived memories of one other place where she could truly see Corbinian's eyes once more. "Would you mind… if maybe I could… see those paintings in the hallway?"

Goran looked puzzled again. "You want to see the paintings of my parents?"

"No." She actually smiled a little at his confusion. "I like those paintings in the hallway of your family's wing. Of Beenie."

This prompted a very unusual response, for she had never seen Goran smile so widely. "You want to see _my_ paintings?"

Samantha opened her mouth but nothing came out for a few seconds. "Your paintings?"

"Yes, I painted those." He took her hand again and led her out of the room and down another hallway. "I used to paint my mother, but my father put a stop to that when I was thirteen. So, the best I could do was my brother. I used to make him sit for me, because I couldn't get anyone else to."

That made no sense at all to her. "You couldn't find a model?"

"My father didn't want me to paint," he answered bitterly. "He wanted me to take up something else. Here we are." They rounded a corner and came into the hallway with the portraits.

And there he was. Corbinian's skin was so tanned and his hair was so thick and of course his eyes were so blue that it burned like a branding iron on her heart. They jumped out from each painting, one after the other, between jagged lines and streaks and smears and delicately placed curves and angles. He was there. And there. And there.

Samantha wanted to melt into the wall to be with the Corbinians who smiled devilishly from inside the picture frames. Like some daily ritual, her tears arrived without flourish, sliding down her cheeks. She couldn't have helped it even if she'd wanted to.

"Corbinian liked them, too," Goran said quietly, leaning against the opposite wall.

"He never said that you painted them," Samantha said distantly.

"He covered for me. Father said that Vaels do practical things. This isn't practical."

She brushed the tears away. "They are beautiful."

"Every year it was something new." There was anger in his voice. "Drawing buildings, designing carts for hauling or weapons like catapults. He figured if I could draw, then I should use that elsewhere. One year, I was asked to draw a design for a new Circle Tower." He let out a scoff. "Maybe I should dig that picture out."

Samantha took a good look at him; he seemed so sad, so alone. It was like she had never known Goran at all. She sniffled again, bringing out a small handkerchief, because she realized that he wasn't going to give her one like he should have. That was when she saw it, just down the hallway: a ray of light streaming through the doorway, as if the Maker was calling to her.

"Goran." She licked her lips. "May I…?" And she gestured down the hallway.

Goran blinked back whatever tears he was fighting and turned to follow her gaze. A moment passed before he realized what she was asking. "Oh. Yes. Of course."

When she had traveled slowly down the hallway to find her parents experiencing demonic torture, Samantha had had no idea what she was walking into, and now—although she knew where she was heading this time—she moved slowly all the same. Without even asking, she reached out and grabbed Goran's arm, leaning on him for support, and he accepted it. He seemed to be used to accepting whatever was given to him.

Corbinian's room was just the same. Blue. The lute. The rug. The pine flooring. The only noticeable difference was that the mounted sword on the wall was missing. Samantha had a sudden flash of Corbinian fighting like mad, swinging a sword in fluid motions upwards and downwards, spinning around and thrusting a shield out—

Her thoughts were interrupted by a man who appeared in the doorway. It was a different man from the spindly redhead, but he was just the same; another bland bureaucrat with an agenda, hiding behind his mask of politeness.

"Your Highness, so sorry to interrupt, but I need a word."

"Right. Make yourself at home, Samantha." Goran let go of her and turned abruptly to follow the man down the hallway.

She was left alone in Corbinian's room. A fine layer of dust blanketed everything like snow and the sunlight that streamed in from the window revealed the tiny specks floating in the stagnant air. Even the lute had a layer of dust on it.

_My new weapon of choice._

It all felt like such a waste. Covered in dust and left untouched. A life halted in mid-stride. The sun was starting to set outside the window and it felt as if she had just been here yesterday.

_Pretend sleep. Just for a short time before it's totally dark out and then I'll take you home. Here, I'll open the curtains so we can see when the sun sets._

Her eyes landed upon a small box that sat upon his bureau, and when she cracked open the lid, she saw his engagement ring sitting silently inside.

_Vaels don't die._

It didn't feel fair. She had a life and someone with whom to share it. A best friend and a million tangible dreams. She looked back at the bed, remembering the feel of his body against hers, and her movements were mindless as she removed her shoes and pulled back the blanket, sliding between the sheets. She remembered feeling his breath in her hair. His hand across her hips. The warmth. Like her own personal hearth.

_It's my wild passionate feelings for you, Sammie._

No. It definitely wasn't fair.

She didn't know how long she slept, but the sun had set by the time she woke up. She could have slept longer, but voices that drifted down the hallway had interrupted her blessedly dreamless sleep, and now she felt a little embarrassed. Falling asleep in Corbinian's room while visiting with his brother...! She wondered if Goran had returned to find her sleeping and just left her there.

The voices were tight and strained, like two men were arguing. Samantha didn't mean to hear what she heard, but the strange, empty state of the Royal Palace had created echoing corridors and the conversation slipped into the room as if she was a part of it.

"She has done a lot for you." The first man sounded like a Marcher, but there was something else behind his accent, like it had been softened from living outside the Free Marches for a long time.

"She murdered my family!" That was Goran Vael on the brink of losing control.

"She spared your life and this is not a nice way to repay her kindness."

"_Kindness_? She's been trying to order me around just like my father! Well, I'm not my father's son anymore. She'll find that out soon enough."

"It isn't wise to make the Lady mad," the man warned. "She has already proven what she is capable of."

"Ahh, that she has, Serah Flint," Goran responded with his own threatening tone. "And I know your men lurk in the shadows waiting to kill me at her order. Just like you did to my family. She thinks that she did me some favor by sparing me, but it was no kindness." Goran appeared to be having a hard time not yelling. "I've let you bully me and I've let her threaten me. _No more_."

There was a shuffling of heavy footsteps clinking with metal but eventually Goran's voice broke through.

"I'm not that scared boy in the closet anymore. I'm the Prince of Starkhaven with a Royal Army now and I am not afraid of you." He was breathing heavily and when he spoke next, it was to the guards. "Take him to the dungeons, and inform the Royal Guard that it's open season on his men."

"You're making a mistake—!" There was another shuffling of footsteps and metal clinking, this time with a few grunts, and Samantha recognized the sounds as guards hauling the man named Flint away.

Goran spoke one final time. "Keis, cut off his head and have it sent to Kirkwall. Let's see if the Lady considers _that_ a kindness."


	21. 9:31 Dragon, Late Autumn

**9:31 Dragon, Late Autumn**

_Dear Sebastian,_

_Thank you for your letter. Words are inadequate to describe the comfort that it brought to me. I would love to hear more from you, but I understand that after you read this missive, you might be propelled to action that will detain your response, for I have news of the most disturbing nature._

_First and foremost, your suspicions about the night of the destruction of the Starkhaven Circle are not unfounded. Certain information was revealed to me clandestinely, though very much by accident as I was visiting with your cousin, Goran Vael, at the royal palace when I fell asleep and I believe he forgot that I was nearby. I overheard him arguing with a man named Flint, and from this conversation, it is my belief that the mages had nothing to do with the murder of your family, but rather their unfortunate end came at hands of a mercenary company lead by this man who was hired by an external source only referenced as "The Lady"._

_Unfortunately, this is not all. Goran instructed the guard present to kill this man, Flint, and send his head to Kirkwall! I fear this means that the one who hired this mercenary group resides in the same city in which you live, and if that's the case then your life is in danger! The conversation I overheard suggested that Goran would have been killed that night as well, but was spared by this "Lady" and that she has been threatening him and perhaps even making demands of him ever since. I know you believe the Chantry may offer you protection, but you said yourself that the corruption in the city of Kirkwall runs through every door. I fear for your safety, Sebastian._

_You are the last of your father's line, and I have lost too many friends already. I cannot lose you as well._

_May the Maker protect you,_

_Samantha_

_P.S. When I received your letter, I also received two letters from Flora. She sounded desperate and would likely benefit from a little Chantry wisdom._

Samantha was trying to stay calm. She really was, but she wasn't used to such covert operations as sneaking letters to people in far away cities through intermediaries that she didn't even know. She felt completely transparent in her quest and could have sworn that Keis had been eyeing her peculiarly all the way to the Chantry that morning.

Keis was standing against the back wall, as she preferred to stand during service. She had been so attached to Samantha at every public moment that Samantha had started forgetting she was even there. Not that it mattered; Keis almost seemed to prefer it that way.

Grand Cleric Francesca was talking about tolerance, patience, and kindness. She had been giving practically the same sermon for the last six months, and just rewording it slightly to ring the changes. She stood at the front of the room in her beautiful robes, her graying hair gently swept up on top of her head, her eyes so kind and bright, and she would proclaim that everything was going to be just fine. Samantha wanted to believe her, but truthfully she was a little distracted.

Samantha had been staring at Taletha for the entirety of service. She seemed so innocent, standing behind the Grand Cleric's podium with the other brothers and sisters, her expression devout as she drank in Francesca's words.. With her eyes closed, she sang with the choir, guiding the rest of the congregation in song and prayer. Samantha would have to wait until service was over to talk to her.

_If you need anything, anything at all, just let me know_, Taletha had said. Through her own grief, Samantha had not caught how intent Taletha seemed at the time, which now stood out quite clearly in her memory. Sebastian's letter said that she would able to direct their correspondence, about which Samantha felt a strong sense of urgency. The contents of her letter were very important, and she couldn't get caught with it, nor could she wait to send it any longer than the agonizing four days that had already passed since she'd written the words. It had to be arranged today. Perhaps during service was not the most appropriate time, but Samantha had barely left the Garritys' estate, and she thought it might seem conspicuous if she were to suddenly have a desire to do so. Keis would certainly suspect an ulterior motive.

Sitting inside the beautiful Chantry, surrounded by hundreds of Starkhaven's nobles, Samantha tried to remind herself to stay calm. She focused on the late morning sunshine streaming through the stained glass windows that made everything feel touched by the Maker himself. Just outside, the spring flowers accented the granite path and made everything fragrant. It was a world born again with a new purpose. She had a new purpose, too. It was slipped inside the palm of her glove and she pressed her fingers against it like, if she didn't, it would disappear.

Benjamin approached her after service, to take her arm and lead her through Granite Circle like a gentleman would, but she politely refused citing that she wanted to speak to a sister from the Chantry. She implied that she needed to talk about her ongoing grief over Corbinian and, if she had no other purpose, that would have been a good reason. But this new purpose gave her strength.

She approached Taletha, who was standing silently against the wall, watching the congregation leave. There were a few other brothers and sisters at her side and they all smiled as Samantha approached.

"Hello." Samantha curtsied.

All of them smiled, but Taletha stepped forward and gave a formal bow of her head. "Hello milady. It is so lovely to see you out and about."

Samantha felt nervous. "I… wanted to thank you again for your visit the other day. It was such a blessing to hear word from my friends. It was like a weight had been lifted."

"True friendship is a gift from the Maker." Taletha's voice was soft and kind. "It should be nurtured."

"Then I am truly blessed." Samantha spoke carefully, wondering if they were communicating in some kind of code. "I have written to my friends, to let them know that I am alive and well."

"I am sure they are grateful for your correspondence."

The others didn't seem to be paying attention, and Samantha pressed on. "I was hoping that I could—" She was too nervous, and she tapped the paper in her glove to calm herself. "—talk to you. About the Chant of Light. Perhaps we could… sing it together?"

"Chanting always calms me as well." Taletha rested her hand on Samantha's shoulders. "I am free right now if you have time. Would you like some privacy? A confession room perhaps?"

"That would be most generous." Samantha was half-holding her breath.

"Come with me, my lady." Taletha bowed her head and began to walk, but Samantha felt a hand on her shoulder.

"No," Keis stated.

"It's all right, Keis." Samantha sighed. "This is Taletha. She's a chanter, not maleficar."

Keis eyed the girl carefully, and it was interesting to see her rigidity so strongly contrasted against Taletha's grace.

"We will just talk," Taletha said genially. "Surely, the Prince of Starkhaven understands that the conversation between a woman and the Maker is private."

"I'll be right outside the door," Keis said, still eyeing the foreigner. "I'm coming in if I hear anything out of the ordinary."

"Then I suppose you should break down the door if I start laughing," Samantha mumbled, reminding herself to have yet another talk with Goran about this whole _personal guard_ idea.

Taletha just smiled as she turned and as Samantha followed, she wondered if the rest of her life would be dominated by following people through hallways. On this occasion, in these halls, her footsteps echoing off the polished stone floor, Samantha could see the ghosts her own history. There was Innley, laughing and chasing her because she had playfully stolen one of his shoes during service. There was Corbinian, pulling her behind a column, sneaking a kiss after service when the pair had gone to the wall to a light a candle. There were the orphans running around her legs in circles, their tiny hands fingering the ribbons of her dress. There was her own shadow as she held onto Ser Traven's arm when he had escorted her out of the building to Lord Garrity's estate. All of these images passed in front of her as she followed the hem of Taletha's robe as it lightly collected small specks of dust in her wake. She could see the faint streaks against the floor.

"Here we are," Taletha said, and Samantha wondered why she had chosen this life. She was pretty enough to catch the eye of the wealthy and beautiful alike.

The candles in the candelabras flickered as they entered, disturbing the still air and Taletha gestured for Samantha to take a knee on the rug. It was maroon with the Maker's sun woven in the center, picked out in a brilliant gold. Adjacent to the altar sat a small pew, only comfortable enough for two. Taletha offered prayers to the Maker but when she opened her eyes, she stared into Samantha's intently.

"I know why you are here," she said quietly, and then looked her over. "Sebastian described you quite well; he said you wouldn't take long to come to me. You are indeed fearless."

_Fearless?_ Samantha felt taken completely aback. Lately, fear was something she felt regularly. Had it been so long? Had she changed so much?

"Is he safe?" Samantha whispered.

"He is."

"Do you know where his letters went?"

"Sebastian believes the Knight Commander has detained them, but there is no evidence of that. In fact, he is working dutifully with other Knight Commanders in the Free Marches to find and capture the escaped mages."

Samantha wondered if Innley had been caught or if he was lurking around Starkhaven waiting to kill her still. She wasn't sure if she wanted the answer, but she asked anyway: "Where have they been found?"

"All over. The wilderness. The mountains. The cities." Taletha took her hands. "Do not worry. There are bounties out on all of them, and it's only a matter of time before they are caught. And you are safe here. Starkhaven is secure."

_Right_. Like the Circle Tower had been secure. Like Starkhaven had been safe once before. And now the only people she loved who were left alive were in Kirkwall, where _The Lady_ lived and probably wanted them dead.

"When are you going back to Kirkwall?" Samantha felt that sense of urgency again.

"I can leave on the next caravan."

Caravans left on a weekly basis, usually around the beginning of the week, which meant that Taletha was likely leaving in just a few days.

"I have a letter for Sebastian." She was definitely feeling paranoid. "It's very important that he receive it."

"He has been anxiously awaiting your reply." Taletha smiled.

Carefully, Samantha removed the folded note from her glove but felt hesitant to be parted from it. Taletha must have seen this because she gently said, "Sebastian is my brother in the Maker's eyes. He has told me of you. You were to marry his cousin and before that you were one of his dearest friends. He cares for you like family, which makes you my family, too. You can trust that your letter will go unopened until he opens it himself."

_Family_. The theme of the year. First Goran and now Taletha. The very idea of it made Samantha's face scrunch up in grief but she didn't want to cry in front of this girl, either.

"Forgive me. I did not mean to upset you." Taletha seemed to mean it.

"Why are you doing this for us? Won't you get in trouble if you're found out?" Samantha felt afraid for her, as much as she felt afraid for herself.

Taletha squeezed Samantha's hands, looking directly in her eyes. "When the Maker shows you his path," she said earnestly, her voice steady and calm, "You do not go the opposite way."

So that was it, then. This girl, who seemed as young as Samantha herself, believed the Maker wanted Samantha and Sebastian to exchange letters – as ridiculous as that sounded. It occurred to Samantha that perhaps the Maker had guided her ears to that conversation between Flint and Goran. Maybe it was all part of His plan. Taletha smiled. Her eyes were so bright; Samantha wished that she could be as sure of the world.

"How will this work exactly?" Samantha still held the letter.

"Traveling back and forth among the cities – it is commonly done among chanters. But we must be careful. Sebastian has asked that your correspondence with him go unknown, so you must tell no one. It also might be best that we do not speak of him too often, lest suspicions arise and we are overheard."

"Are we in danger?"

"Sebastian feels something is amiss." Taletha glanced at the confession room door. "He will be pleased that that large woman is guarding you. But we all must be careful, not just for his safety but for yours. He doesn't want to bring unwanted attention your way, but he needs your help all the same."

"He is my friend. I would never turn him away," Samantha said in earnest.

Taletha smiled again. "We all move as the Maker guides us. Recognizing His signs can be a challenge, because they are often subtle... but sometimes grand. I've always thought that friendship is a bit of both."

The Maker's signs. _Samantha's torn dress. Innley's amputation. Helena's death. Her father's stubbornness. Her mother's lack of remorse. Flora's contrition. Ruxton and the Blooming Rose. The destruction of the Starkhaven Circle. Goran's paintings. Corbinian's room. Meghan Vael's locket..._

Samantha handed over the note.

In the several weeks that followed, Taletha was as good as her word.

She dutifully carried Samantha and Sebastian's letters back and forth between Kirkwall and Starkhaven until the late autumn snows blanketed the pass through the Vimmark Mountains. It took a month for the pass to clear and for Taletha to return, but when she did, she brought something extraordinary with her.

Keis didn't raise too many objections the next time Samantha met Taletha after Chantry service back in one of the confession rooms; a different one this time, although they all looked the same. Taletha had rambled about how Sebastian was suddenly so focused. Normally, she claimed, his demeanor was so calm and measured and his voice was even and kind. During the last few months, she had seen an entirely different side of him, and no one at the Kirkwall Chantry knew what to make of it.

He was anxious, restless, angry. Taletha was extremely worried for her _brother_, and learned that Sebastian had posted a call to service on the Chanter's Board and affixed it with an arrow. Such a brazen display of hostility had all of the sisters and brothers atwitter with discussion about , and so Taletha had taken it upon herself to respond to the person who answered the call - some Fereldan refugee who needed coin. It seemed as though Brother Sebastian had become something of a renegade. Samantha could only smirk, because the Sebastian she remembered was so much worse than that.

She could recall parties where he'd danced with no less than twenty different girls, where he'd drunk twenty glasses of wine, where he would "borrow" a bow from whatever weapons display he could find and show off his skills to giggling debutantes, affixing more than just paper with the arrows he fired. She could recount stories where he had created distractions for guards so that they could sneak around the Royal Palace's unused rooms, of which there were dozens, and she laughed at the memories of him inviting boys to archery contests... and then inviting girls to be spectators.

Incidentally, that had been how Samantha had met Corbinian. She and Flora had been those girls, and she had spied Corbinian staring at her from across the yard. She'd known who he was, of course, but they had barely spoken since the incident with the painting oils when she was five. But everything changed on that day, when it was as though once he looked at her, he never looked away. Once he spoke to her, he never stopped talking. Once he touched her, he never removed his hands.

And all of that seemed tied up in Taletha's soft-spoken words about how wild and crazy Sebastian Vael seemed. If she only knew, Samantha thought ruefully.

But that wasn't the extraordinary part. Sebastian had sent her a letter, but also a small box.

_Dearest Samantha,_

_I sent out this letter as soon as the pass through the Vimmarks was clear. I hope you are well and haven't been too worried about me during these past winter months._

_Words of thanks are not enough for what you have done, Sammie. Though you should never put yourself in danger like that again, I admit that the information you provided was invaluable. Through the Chanter's Board, I hired a small group of mercenaries lead by a Fereldan refugee, and I am pleased to announce that every last member of the Flint Mercenary Company is dead. I can't tell you what a relief it is to know that my parents can rest easy in their graves, but I would be lying if I also didn't admit to a sense of satisfaction knowing that their murderers have been brought to the Maker's feet._

_I have also made a decision. I've thought about it sincerely, prayed to the Maker, and searched my heart, and I have decided to leave the Chantry. Elthina does not approve of my decision, but I am returning to Starkhaven to assume the throne as the rightful heir. I just can't stay here knowing what happened to my family, to Starkhaven, and to my friends. It feels wrong to sit by and do nothing while Goran assumes a throne he is not prepared for. Surely, only Starkhaven will suffer for that._

_It's not going to be easy, though. It has been almost ten years. I don't know if the people will accept me back knowing that their prince sent me away. I also don't know if Goran will challenge me for the prince's seat, but he never seemed like a leader. I can't imagine him fighting me for it, but it is my duty to try._

_I have petitioned the Viscount of Kirkwall for his support. I will write to the Teyrn of Ostwick, the Lord Chancellor of Tantervale, and our family in Nevarra City. If I come home with the support of other leaders of the Free Marches, and perhaps some form of aid to help rebuild, then the people might accept me back more readily._

_I have not been to visit Flora, and I confess that I have not been a good friend to her. I will make amends but, right now, it is not safe to be on my own outside the Chantry while there might be agents of murder looking for me. Thanks to you, we know that the person who hired the Flint company is in Kirkwall, and so I must be careful. No doubt my family has enemies, but something doesn't sit right about any of this. I promise you, I will visit Flora when things are settled._

_I have enclosed something else. The Fereldan refugee I hired found it on one of the Flint mercenaries. I thought I would return it to its rightful owner._

_Andraste guide your way,_

_Your friend, Sebastian_

She couldn't think about how he had barely mentioned Flora. Nor could Samantha fully comprehend that she had been partly responsible for the death of an entire group of mercenaries. And finally, she couldn't process Sebastian's announcement that he intended to lay claim to the prince's throne of Starkhaven. Because at the conclusion of the letter, the small box in Taletha's hands became the magnet to which Samantha was drawn.

It was wrapped in brown parchment paper with a thick white string tied around all sides just like those tiny packages that her uncle, her father's brother, would send from all over the world. When Samantha lifted it up, she heard a small muffled noise from inside. The familiar sound of a metal chain wrapped in cloth scraping the bottom of a tiny box. She was no stranger to receiving jewelry, but that sound made her heart skip twice because she knew exactly what it was.

She had to take a seat in the confession room's pew for she had been so excited to receive a letter from Sebastian that she hadn't waited to read it. The package felt light in her hands as she sat staring at it, unopened and perfect. For a singular moment, everything was just as it used to be. She had only felt this certain about one other thing in her life, and that was the boy who had given this to her in the first place.

Can a moment last forever? Taletha sat down next to her and touched her arm. She was saying something, maybe Samantha's name, but there were no sounds in the world, no words or music or heartbeats or wind. All the world was inside the box wrapped up in a tiny bit of cloth and attached to a golden chain.

Meghan Vael's locket.


	22. 9:32 Dragon, Spring

_Thanks to **analect** for being a great beta, as always. And a great big thanks to **dominicgrim** and **JadeSelket** for reviewing - I'm so glad you guys are enjoying this little story. Hang with me for the next few chapters - we're going to get a know a few people a little better as Sammie__ moves through her grief. She will come out on the other side, though, along with a certain Vael..._  


**9:32 Dragon, Spring**

Andraste's stone face was a mystery to Samantha. She had to remind herself that someone else had carved this piece of rock to look like the prophet. It wasn't that old, and she had died a long time ago, which meant that someone had really carved it to look like whatever they thought she looked like. Maybe she didn't look like that stone at all. Maybe she'd had a wider nose or wavy hair. Who had chosen this likeness for her and why?

Samantha fumbled with the locket around her neck as these questions ran through her head. The initiates at the Chantry accused her of avoiding the Maker's comfort but what they were really asking her to do was to forgive Him for taking Corbinian away. She had heard the Canticle of Transfigurations more times than she could stand and by now she could recite it by heart. She had never actually listened to it before, or maybe she had just never heard the message behind the words. It was beautiful, and she had always loved the way her mother sang it when she was a little girl. But she wasn't a little girl anymore.

Sometimes she wished that she had joined her parents at the Maker's side; that would have been easier than trying to make sense of what had happened. She couldn't help but wonder, would she have to wait until her own death to see her Beenie again? Goran was so certain he was alive that it was impossible to talk to him about Corbinian, and she couldn't shake the thought that the Prince of Starkhaven was doing her a great disservice by clinging to the idea that his brother still lived. Was Samantha supposed to move on? Was she supposed to mourn? Was she supposed to wait? She stared up at Andraste and silently asked her, _What am I supposed to do?_

Every day, she watched people come and go from the Chantry; faces she knew that were distorted by grief. The Grand Cleric said that the Maker didn't make things happen or let things happen, but if that was case, Samantha wondered why Francesca was always invoking the Maker to watch over them all. What good was a Maker who let his children suffer?

_All of them. Even the mages._

She wondered about the renegade mages often. Had they been killed? Had they escaped? Were their names on the List?

The day's musings piqued her curiosity, and her mind drifted to the most recent Survivors' Index. It was updated as often as new information became available and posted on the Chanters' Board just outside the Chantry, inside of which Samantha had been sitting and staring at Andraste. It was her only place of refuge anytime Benjamin Garrity or his father would start to pester her about _moving on_, which had turned out to be far too often for Samantha's patience. And even though she was wrestling with her faith, the Chantry was far more comforting than anywhere else. Maybe it was the warm wood of the pews or the colored light through the stained glass windows. Maybe it was the embrace of the sisters and brothers, or maybe it was that she received letters from Sebastian. But there weren't many places that had happy memories anymore. Thus far, the Chantry was safe.

With her shoes in hand instead of on her feet, Samantha made her way to the wide front doors of the Chantry, which creaked from their own enormous weight as she tried to pry them open. Samantha struggled to shift the heavy wood, surprised when the doors suddenly began to open more easily. It was then that she noticed Keis behind her, pulling the doors back with ease. The warrior had become a permanent fixture in her life, but inanimate like a parasol or a fork: always around when needed and never in the way. Samantha wrapped her shawl a little tighter around her shoulders as the brisk spring air greeted her.

The front of the Chantry was beautiful. Starkhaven had a reputation for lavishness after all, and so the Chantry was kept in immaculate condition. Its marble pillars and intricate carvings encircled the entire building but, most famously, the polished stone bodies of Maferath and Hessarian were carved into the first two columns of the building, as if they both were forced to hold up the roof of the shrine to Andraste for all eternity as penance for their sins. Of course, the Chantry would never claim to be a shrine to Andraste, but Samantha didn't really think they were fooling anyone.

The Chanters' Board was littered with notes. Many of them contained drawings of the faces of the missing. _Have you seen this boy? Husband and father. Last seen on…_ Many of them were faded as if the elements of nature had taken them to task for being posted for so long, which in itself was heartbreaking.

"Did you know that someone started a separate list for pets?" A familiar voice made her twirl around. It was Ser Traven. "I doubt any of them will be found. The Tylers still haven't found their cat."

"The Tylers had a cat?" Samantha had never heard this before.

"Oh, right." Traven smirked, turning to Keis. "I forgot about all those rules the nobles have."

Keis chuckled, she only ever laughed in front of Traven. "They didn't announce it, but I think it was their son's."

_Vincent Tyler had a cat_? It was so strange that these mundane details could change her view on someone so entirely. She had never seen his cat. She had never seen anyone's cat as it was considered low-brow to keep pets, especially vermin-chasers like cats. They were diseased and dirty, they licked themselves in unattractive places, and then wanted to lick people. Maybe this missing cat was why Vincent seemed so down when she last saw him. Maybe he was simply brooding over the loss of his pet, and Samantha felt terribly stupid for assuming it was about her family.

She was being rude in her surprised silence. "Forgive my manners, Ser Traven. How are you?"

"I am well, and your manners are impeccable as always. How are you, milady?" It wasn't one of those _how are you_s that Keis offered, layered with a guardian's worry, but rather genuine.

She found that keeping up her formalities around Traven was difficult, and she wasn't sure why, but the honesty escaped her like her own breath. "I have good days and bad days. I was just inside and thought about the List."

"Who were you going to look for? I'll help." He moved towards the board.

"Well." She felt a little awkward, because she wasn't sure how it would sound. "I think his name is Decimus."

Keis narrowed her eyes, squinting at Samantha as if she was trying to see her intentions. Traven gave a long look, too, and she guessed he was searching for her reason as well, but his scrutiny came across as sort of revelatory. Like he was learning something about her, just as she had learned something about Vincent Tyler.

She felt the need to clarify. "I know that his fraternity was helping Innley, and I know that Innley is considered missing. I was just… I don't know what I thought, I guess."

"I understand." Traven looked back at the board. "Let's see… Decimus. Decimus… here we go. He is formally listed as missing."

"Which means he escaped." Keis didn't coat the truth with pleasantries.

Disappointment settled heavily upon Samantha's shoulders, but she wasn't sure what she had been expecting. "Oh."

"Lady Samantha..." Traven said quietly. "I've read the Templars' report. He is not your brother any longer. Your brother died that night. Innley was a sweet boy taken advantage of by a manipulative maleficar." He took a breath and then said, "I take personal responsibility for what happened with him, because I should have watched out for him better. It was my job after all."

"That's very nice of—"

She had stopped talking, because the ground had shook. Just once. There was a low rumbling that followed and then dead silence. The birds ceased their chirping, and quite suddenly flew from the trees into the air, the ominous flutter of their wings fading quickly. Without warning a dark stream of smoke billowed out from a nearby sewer grate. It was as thick and black as the smoke that had poured from the Starkhaven Circle Tower the night it had burned to the ground. Faster than Samantha could blink, Maferath and Hessarian both disappeared beneath the rapidly spreading smoky blackness.

She let out a small, involuntary yelp, dropping her shoes to the stone while Keis and Traven drew their weapons in synchronicity. Traven's battleaxe dwarfed Keis' sword and shield, but they both moved with such grace, as though their weapons were part of their bodies, and Samantha remembered how Corbinian had always moved the same way.

Traven turned to Keis and yelled something, but that was when Samantha noticed that it wasn't deathly quiet, it was actually so loud that she couldn't hear anything distinct. The lack of sound was fuzzy and enveloping, just like the smoke. Eventually, Traven grabbed Keis' shoulder and yelled again. Keis nodded, turning her gaze to the direction of the Chantry – apparently she had understood him. Samantha looked back as well, but the smoke was so thick that she couldn't see past a few feet, and what lay beyond that was anyone's guess.

_Not again, not again, not again_ began beating through Samantha's mind like a horse's hooves, chasing down her hope that everything that would be all right.

Keis wrapped an arm around her, yelling into her ear, "Move with me!"

The command seemed a little ambiguous at first until they began to walk slowly together in the direction of the Chantry's doors. Samantha closed her eyes, coughing from breathing in the smoke, and she pulled her shawl up to cover her mouth, tripping up the stone steps and stumbling hard into Keis as the woman came to an abrupt halt. Samantha opened her eyes.

She had only ever seen pictures of demons, and those drawings clearly did not do them justice, for the _thing_ that arose before her was as frightening as anything she had been dreaming about for the last year. It was made of thick smoke, swirling and smooth, coalescing around itself with a strange and barely visible fiery core. It was unbearably hot, like staring into a fireplace, burning her eyes for keeping them open. Its only other discernible feature was its eyes, which were an unnatural green. Just like Innley's had been.

_Innley_.

For one everlasting second, everything seemed to stop and there was nothing in the world but the silent wind, the searing heat, the gleam of Keis' sword, and the looming pillar of black death reaching for the pair of them. But the moment was broken by the battle cry of a woman who wasn't going to fail in her duty.

Keis' arm snaked around Samantha's waist, pinning her to the warrior's armored body while her shield protected Samantha's back. Suffocated by fear, Samantha watched the warrior swing her sword across her body in a wide arc, the blade passing through the creature's center without impact. It was incredible; without so much as a twitch in reaction to the blade, the monster reached for Keis, and Samantha instinctively flinched away from its smoky grasp. The terror shooting through her made her want to run, to scream, and she wondered if maybe the Maker had heard her earlier when she wished for death. Maybe He would take her now.

Keis pivoted until her sword noiselessly sliced through it again, and this time the creature seized violently for a few seconds before it simply dissipated into nothing. Samantha was still cowering at Keis' side, staring at the empty space before them, dumbfounded at where it had gone and terrified of it coming back.

"What was that?" Samantha yelled over the deafening fuzz, tasting tears that were dripping into the sides of her mouth.

"A shade!" Keis answered, regripping her sword. "Keep moving!"

A shade. A demon. _A demon_.

Samantha doubted she could move, her mind jumping back into that hallway with the terrible tinkling and the rolling and the whimpering, but Keis jerked her back to the present. Samantha's eyes snapped to her protector's, which were made of jade, hard and cold.

"_I said,_ _move_!"

Samantha felt her body intimidated into motion, her legs and feet stiffly lifting onto each step. Two more shades appeared between them before they made it to the doors, and at each encounter, Samantha felt more and more certain that she was going to die. But once at the top, just when she thought they would go inside the Chantry and Andraste would open her arms and embrace her in the afterlife, Keis hesitated.

"What?" Samantha asked impatiently, her knuckles white from gripping her shawl.

"I can't be sure there aren't demons inside," Keis responded pensively. "Nor do I want to endanger anyone in there by opening the doors. We're going to have to stay here. More Templars are likely on their way if not here already."

_Andraste's mercy!_ Was Keis keeping her alive to spite her? Samantha wanted to sink down to the stone, curl up into a ball and cover her ears, but Keis wouldn't let her do that either, just in case they needed to move quickly. So they huddled up against the Chantry doors and waited while Samantha pressed her face into the cold metal of Keis' armor to keep from getting sick with fear, with anger, with bitterness. After a few moments, they could hear clanging, like metal on stone and then crackles, as though metal was meeting magic. Keis had been right; the Templars had arrived.

It wasn't long after that the smoke unceremoniously disappeared. Just like the demons – the shades. It reminded Samantha a little of a summer storm she had seen once, how the dark grey clouds just suddenly parted to be replaced by white puffy clouds and a bright blue sky. That was exactly what this had been like. It was sort of surreal to see a group of bloodied Templars appear as the smoke shrunk away.

Several Templars milled about, inspecting themselves and each other. One of the Templars had his foot on the back of a mage whose face was pressed hard against the granite path. A little way away, a Templar hunched over another smaller Templar who lay face down in the dirt, blood pooling from somewhere underneath the body.

"You guys all right?" Traven called out to Keis, and Samantha followed his voice to see another Templar sheathing his sword and setting his shield on his back. Samantha recognized the armor markings as only worn by a Knight Captain in the Templar Order.

Keis turned to Samantha, lifting her chin and moving it from side to side. "Are you injured?" Samantha fussed against her, which Keis took as her answer, calling back to the Templars, "We're fine."

"Right." The Knight Captain smiled broadly at Keis. "Good thing you were here or that girl would have been toast."

"What happened?" Traven asked him.

"We were surveying the ruins of the tower, there had been reports of—" He glanced at Samantha. "—_activity_. Imagine our surprise to learn that the dungeons of the Circle Tower didn't burn like the rest of it."

The dungeons. Where Innley had been. How many of those windowless chambers had been forgotten? How many mages died chained to the wall with nothing but the sounds of death in the air? Samantha felt like she was going to be sick.

"We found this mage down there, crawling through the catacombs like a worm." The Knight Captain gestured to the woman who was squirming and complaining under the boot of one of the Templars. She had a black eye that was swelling quickly. Her blonde hair was half-caked in blood, and her robe was torn and burned. She was also profoundly dirty, from head to toe.

"I have a name if you'd bother—!" The mage's outburst was rewarded with a yank of her hair and orders to quiet down.

"Probably trapped this whole time." The Knight-Captain sighed, speaking like she wasn't there. "She ran when we got to her. Led us all through the sewers. I guess we shouldn't be surprised that she wasn't able to fight off demons while she was alone down there."

Traven reset his battleaxe upon his back. "An abomination?"

"I don't think so." The Knight Captain derisively looked down at her. "Maybe just a blood mage. In either case, she called those demons to aid her escape."

"I did not!" she protested. "I was running from them!"

"Don't make things worse for yourself, girl." The Knight Captain's voice was biting.

"_Elsa_. And I am not a blood—"

He knelt down beside her and said quietly, though still loud enough for Samantha to hear, "If you don't shut up, I'll be forced to silence you."

Elsa stayed quiet.

Traven looked to the rest before his gaze settled on the lone fallen Templar. And then he said a name that Samantha recognized: "Shay."

"She was down there with this one," the Knight Captain said, referencing the mage as he brushed the girl's blonde hair away from her face. The gesture was too familiar, too intimate, and Samantha shuddered. "Always had a soft spot for mages, that one. And look where it got her." The Knight-Captain stood up, arching his back into a stretch. "Well, let's get this mage off to… Kirkwall, I guess. The Knight Commander there will know what to do with her. Drinks at the Barracks in an hour, Ser Traven."

"Yes, ser," Traven said, and he sounded strange. Too formal. The laughter in his voice was gone.

Samantha couldn't imagine celebrating; Ser Shay lay dead on the granite path in a quickly-drying puddle of her own blood. Samantha remembered how Shay had been a sympathizer, how she had the mark on her armor, and Samantha wasn't quick enough to spy the other Templar's armor plating for similar markings before they moved away. Maybe Shay was one of the last. Maybe she had been helping the mage, the girl named Elsa. Samantha thought of Helena. Maybe helping mages always ended in tragedy.

Several Templars picked Elsa up, and she didn't fight them as they led her away. In fact, she turned to look at Ser Shay's body with a sorrowful expression. Whether it was because of guilt or sadness was impossible to tell. Samantha, Keis, and Traven watched them go in silence.

"Do you think—?" Samantha started but Traven shrugged, his armor clinking loudly.

"It's impossible to tell by looking at them. The ones who are lie, and the ones who aren't suffer for it." He was watching a few of the Templars gather up Ser Shay's body, but he seemed to be looking so very far away. After a moment, he turned back to Keis and Samantha. "I'll walk you both back to the Garritys'."

Keis nodded, and Samantha instinctively took his arm, as though he were escorting her home from Chantry service and not a near-death experience. Of course, this wasn't the first time this sort of thing had happened since the destruction of the Circle Tower. Little fits like this popped up every now and then, though Samantha had never before personally witnessed them. Everyone said that the Veil had been thinned from the explosion, and for a while this part of Starkhaven was likely to be a dangerous place to use magic. Perhaps it had been Keis' constant presence or the Templars roaming the streets during all hours that made her feel safe when she came to the Chantry. Whatever it had been was now gone, as the city that had once been a lavishly decorated playground was now a precarious illusion.

Letting out a shaky breath, Samantha held onto Traven's arm tightly as they began their walk down the granite path towards the Garrity's estate. Standing close to two armored figures reminded Samantha of all those times that she and Corbinian had stood this close. She couldn't help but compare their armor to his, which had been much nicer than Traven's... and eerily similar to Keis'. The cut of the golden plates pieces was the same, the royal insignia was emblazoned on the wristplates, and the fit of the undertunic was tailored to her body – something only royalty or nobility could afford. As far as Samantha knew, Keis did not come from a noble family. Her armor wasn't a set that rolled off an assembly line from just any smith, but rather it had been customized specifically for her in the same manner that the best blacksmith in town had customized sets for the Vaels. Samantha wondered, _Is Keis wearing royal armor? Had Goran ordered her a set made?_ That would have been something, for no one but a Vael had ever worn the royal armor.

"I haven't seen Ser Langley," Samantha said, fumbling for a topic.

Traven deflated a little. "I guess you wouldn't have heard. Ser Langley died the night of the Mage Rebellion. It was a powerful demon. Keis was there—" Samantha looked to her, but found an unreadable expression. "—Took six of us before it went down."

"Oh." She gripped his arm a little tighter to show sympathy. "I'm so sorry."

"I think the mages went after him."

"He deserved what he got," Keis said coldly.

Samantha remembered the way some of the mages stared at Ser Langley on those rare occasions that he had led her and Corbinian through the tower to see Innley. The mages had looked upon him differently than Traven, and he had looked upon them differently as well.

As they rounded a corner and passed by the Templars' Building, the Circle of Starkhaven came into view, or rather what was left of it. The workers had cleaned away most of the debris and there were just a few wiry support beams left, blackened from the fire and twisting upwards in torment. Samantha thought of all the men and women who had died right on that spot.

_It'll take more than that to kill me_.

Corbinian's words echoed through her memory, soot-stained and exhausted, and she could have sworn that she had held onto him in relief and elation just yesterday. All those years ago. Was Goran right? Was Corbinian alive? Would it have taken more than a demon or a group of renegade mages to kill him?

"This isn't what I thought it would be like," Traven said quietly, drawing Samantha out of her thoughts, and Keis actually gave him a sympathetic look.

"What isn't?" Samantha asked, turning away from the remains of the Circle Tower.

"I always thought that the Templars were noble. Something good. But it's always felt like…" Traven gave another sigh. "You know, I think about Innley a lot. How I tore up your letters to him. About what he did to you. It's my fault. Well, it's the Templars' fault. We have to safeguard these mages from demons—like those we saw today—and we failed with your brother."

"Ser Traven, I do not fault you for the actions of a demon. Innley could have chosen differently."

"Maybe if he had read your letters—"

"He kept his magic a secret from his family and friends until he was thirteen, which suggests that he had considerable control over it." Samantha found her strength returning as she kept talking. "I've read about maleficar and abominations. Unlike you and me, a mage has to look into a demon's eye and accept their offer. You likely could not have prevented what occurred any more than you could prevent the sun from rising. Do not burden yourself."

Pressing his lips into a small smile, Traven seemed deeply moved. He swallowed hard, standing up a little taller before he said, "I always knew you to be uncommonly kind for someone of your stature. You honor me."

Perhaps because of everyone she knew was someone of stature, Samantha had never really thought of herself as such. Indeed, the only ones she felt that way towards were royalty, but standing with this Templar, this man who was the orphan of a whore, she realized that she must seem like royalty to him. It was a little surprising, because he was always a perfect gentleman. Not like the orphans of whores in the stories, who were vulgar and uncouth. Not even like most Templars.

How strange it was that Samantha had been staring the statue of Andraste for a year, weeping in the arms of brothers and sisters of the Chantry, reading through the Chant to try and make sense of all that has happened, but it was this conversation, no more than a few minutes long, that brought some measure of understanding about the events of that night. That it would take something so horrible like that smoky shade…

She looked up at the awning of the Garritys' estate. It felt like the border to a foreign land, and quite suddenly, she felt ready to move back to familiar territory.

"Lady Samantha?" Traven prompted.

"It's nothing," she said. The events of the day were already fading, like a bad dream. "Keis, I think I'm ready to move into the royal palace."

Keis just nodded, as though she had been expecting this.

But Traven chuckled. "Actually, I was going to ask what happened to your shoes."

As the trio looked down at her bare feet, which none had noticed until now, Samantha laughed for the first time in a year.


	23. 9:32 Dragon, Summer

**9:32 Dragon, Summer**

Samantha had been haunted by Corbinian's eyes for half a year, ever since she had stared into them, impossibly alive, in those paintings. Now she lived down the hall from them, and the first time she had settled down in her new bed, she had barely fallen asleep before she leapt in the darkness, screaming in terror, for she had seen his eyes morph into a glowing and menacing monster. Just as Innley's eyes had been. She had clawed her way across the unfamiliar room, shouting for Corbinian, but it was Keis and Goran who had arrived at her doorway. Goran had been dressed in night clothes, and the sight of him had been so jarring – he was wearing a nightcap! – that she was shocked into laughter. Hysterical, weeping laughter.

In the months that had passed, Goran's presence had become reassuring, and it didn't take long for the pair of them to become inseparable... much to the delight of Starkhaven's rumor mill. The nobles were feverish with gossip about Samantha and the prince. Some days during service, when she caught their whispering, she wondered if she could hold to her courtesies and not scream at them. Lady Garrity was the worst, for she was convinced that Samantha had moved out of her estate because, if Corbinian was dead, then the next best shot at becoming royalty was Goran Vael. Was that entire family's view of love warped by Lord Garrity's profession?

For his part, Goran paid almost no attention to the gossip, which Samantha discovered was perfectly normal for him. It seemed like he had selective hearing, and many assumed he was an idiot because of this – Samantha certainly had. But she had come to know that he was simply introspective. It was an irony that the Vael everyone thought was so dim was perhaps the most thoughtful. He just couldn't articulate or censor his thoughts that well.

She was sitting on the back terrace when Goran joined her for afternoon tea, plopping down in one of the metal chairs that surrounded the glass table. It was the same room in which her family had often enjoyed brunch with his, but all the chairs were empty now, replaced with the ghosts of her once-future family. It was both sad and soothing to sit with them in this place that now felt like her home, and Samantha had started to doubt that she could ever go back to her estate.

"You are not going to believe this," she said, enthralled with a new book; it had just come in the previous day. "The temple where Andraste's Ashes were found was guarded by a cult who believed Andraste had returned to Thedas in the form of a dragon!"

"What?" Goran loosened the collar of his shirt, bewildered at the news.

"I know!" Samantha turned a page. "Brother Genitivi was held captive by these lunatics. And the leader of their Chantry was a man—!"

"Blasphemy!" Goran laughed and Samantha joined him.

"And of course, the Grey Wardens saved him." She shook her head in disbelief as she turned the page. "They didn't name the Hero of Ferelden incorrectly, I guess."

Goran chuckled as he leafed through the day's post.

She and Goran met at least four times a day; breakfast, afternoon tea, dinner, and after dinner in the library. He didn't fill the silence, either, which at times was both nerve-wracking and kind. She had to pry personal information from him because he rarely spoke about himself on his own. But, at the same time, she didn't have to hear about how she should _move on_, most notably because Goran hadn't. He still believed firmly that Corbinian lived. Before she had moved into the palace, she had spoken with him only sparingly, but now that they had spent more time together, she had come to realize he wasn't anything like he seemed. He was shy at first, to be sure, but all it took was a willingness to listen to him and he opened up like a flower.

Goran had grown up feeling like a bitter disappointment to his father. _Vaels do practical things_, Goran had said those many months ago, reciting his father's tone so perfectly that Samantha had wondered how often he had performed the impersonation for Corbinian. Fighting, understanding complex systems, being good with mathematics or debate were all common, and very practical Vael traits. Artistry and contemplation were not, but those were Goran's greatest gifts. He had spent the better part of his youth trying to mold himself into his father's image of a Vael, but he had always failed. Eventually, Goran said, his father gave up on him.

In time that ceased to bother him, he had said, for his mother had always seen him as a gift from the Maker. Goran had said she was the only person that he could sit with, that he could be silent with for hours, reading or painting or listening to her sing. They understood each other, and she always knew just what to say to make him smile. At one point during his youth, Goran's father had ordered all his paintings destroyed, but his mother had saved them, hiding them away in a rarely used set of rooms. In the last few months, Goran had unearthed them all, ordering three rooms remade into galleries just to showcase all the paintings. The rooms were a shrine of sorts, and Goran visited it more often than the Chantry.

Envy was a feeling Samantha wasn't accustomed to, but she discovered that her heart wished she had had that kind of bond with her parents – even one of them would have been enough. But she never had. And now they were gone.

Goran resumed leafing through the letters. "We need to finalize the details for your party."

The words on the page blurred, but she put forth her best smile and nodded. Reluctantly, she had agreed to let Goran throw her a party at the palace for her name day. She didn't want a party, but there had been five events already that summer that she hadn't attended, which didn't help the gossip. Fortunately, she didn't have to talk about it, because Goran's attention caught on one letter in particular.

"This one's for you," he said, hesitantly sliding the folded note across the table, its seal already broken by the Knight Commander. It was from Flora, and Samantha was wondering when he was going to bring her up. The look on his face, or rather the way he was trying _not_ to look, implied that he very much wanted to.

Samantha unfolded the letter to read more of Flora's despair: her father was missing! She had tried to order a search for him, but getting into her estate's coffers had proved too complex a task. She claimed that she must be taking ill, but there was no one to care for her because most of the servants had been dismissed. She thought maybe her family's wealth was gone, but the way her brother Brett brought out family heirlooms had made her reconsider. Fed up with her family and growing more ill by the day, she had begun making plans to move into her own estate – perhaps Ruxton's lordship in Cumberland. Samantha didn't understand what was going on – the way Flora described her family was like a jester's show!

"How is Flora?" Goran poorly acted like he wasn't interested.

"Not well," Samantha said, frowning as she folding up the note. "Her family… She doesn't say so specifically, but it sounds like they are in financial trouble, and she's taken ill."

"She's sick?" There was alarm in his voice.

Samantha watched his reactions. "She says she gets headaches. She has no nurse to take care of her anymore, and her father is missing."

"I see." He looked back out the windows, his gaze distant.

"Do you ever write to her?" Samantha asked, feeling the question was a gamble, because she wasn't sure if anyone had ever talked to him about his obvious affection for Flora.

Goran shook his head slowly. "I don't think I can do that…"

She glanced at Keis, who was leaning against the wall, staring blankly out of the large glass patio doors. Samantha wondered if she was listening to them. "Sure you can."

"It's not that easy," he said brusquely.

Samantha scowled, because she felt certain that it _was_ that easy. "Why?"

"I… " He was hiding something, but she couldn't guess at what. "It's too complicated."

"Are you going to wait for her forever, then?"

Goran sighed, turning to look back out of the window. After a moment he stood up. "I want to show you something." When Keis made to follow, he held up his hand. "It's all right. We'll be back soon."

He led her through his family's wing and took about six different turns through four different rooms. Five months ago, Samantha would have been lost, but she had been exploring the palace and had learned the layout well enough. They finally reached a room in one of the back hallways where it was darker than most. Goran glanced over his shoulder before he opened the Orlesian-style double doors, and the darkness was softened by the light that seeped through the sheer curtains.

Everything seemed to glow on the other side of Goran's dark silhouette. Easels, canvases large and small, tiny bottles of oil paint representing every color imaginable, jars with paint brushes, small knives, and strange-looking tools that Samantha could not name.

All the pictures were covered in heavy white cloth, and Samantha didn't ask before she pulled up the corner of one, because this must be why Goran had brought her here. To see these paintings. To see the way he saw Flora Harimann. And there she was. Her mysterious smile and her those flat cheeks, her long hair with flowers tucked within, and of course her eyes. Those sultry eyes, hazel in every hue, striking and playful, clever and jovial. And laughing. She was beautiful.

Goran's mother was on display, but Flora was still a secret.

She remembered that day that Corbinian had played the lute for her. How his music had lifted her away from the ground and shown her a side of him that she had never known and yet, once she became aware of its existence, had longed to see again and again. It had made her see inside herself to a place both ethereal and real, where the physical world wasn't nearly as important as the dream world.

She turned around to see Goran standing against the doorframe. "I've been painting her for years," he said nervously. "I don't know how to paint anyone else."

He had painted a lot of people since, but Samantha knew what he meant. She also knew the answer before she asked: "You never showed these to her, did you?"

"I could never find the words…"

"They _are_ your words."

Goran looked from her to the paintings and back again, and she wondered if he knew how much the paintings really said.

She pressed on. "Send her one."

"One of the paintings?" He seemed mortified already.

"Yes, one of the paintings!" Samantha said, exasperated at how long he had held a torch for Flora and done nothing about it.

Goran seemed so anxious, as if Flora were in the room. "I don't know..."

"What harm could it do?" Samantha understood that it was a big step, but she felt certain that this was the path to take.

Though he was still unsure, they sat in the room after dinner, and Goran agonized over whether to send a portrait to Kirkwall. He didn't talk much, and what he did say was so confusing that Samantha thought it amazing he'd ever tried to have a conversation with Flora at all, if just the thought of her could bewitch him so.

Finally, when he decided on a painting, he opted for not attaching a note, which Samantha couldn't quite understand, but at least it was a start. Goran had it wrapped and sent away by the end of the week, and he spent the entirety of breakfast that morning calculating exactly when it would get there, and how soon he might hear back from her, depending on if she decided to respond. It was sort of cute, but Samantha couldn't imagine Corbinian acting this way. His plans had never seemed to include defeat.

For the first time that day, but not for the last, she had to shake away thoughts that he was dead, that he could have been defeated, and that he wasn't coming back. It seemed unfair that the world was moving forward without him in it.

Goran checked the post anxiously for weeks, but a letter from the Harimann estate didn't arrive until the evening of Samantha's name day party just under a month later. Goran, too embarrassed to read it in front of her, had excused himself and Samantha was left with nothing to do but prepare for the party that she didn't want.

The fashions that season had been long, heavy, dark-hued satins and velvets. Samantha had chosen an Orlesian gown, deep red to match Starkhaven's flag. After seeing her choice, and without thought to the how the gesture would be interpreted, Goran had ordered a vest made of the same color. She didn't say anything, but felt certain that it would only fuel the rumor that the two of them were romantically linked. To make matters worse, when the seamstresses brought the final garment for fitting, the sparkling rubies in the bodice and the cut of the dress drew attention to her curves. She hadn't meant to choose such a sensual gown. Orlesians were also wearing funny tiaras that year; shiny jeweled headdresses that draped over the forehead and the ears. The empress had been spotted wearing a sapphire so large that it had left a depression against her forehead. Samantha's was considerably more modest, but still, the gem thumped against her forehead uncomfortably whenever she turned her head.

Keis insisted on wearing her armor, but at least conceded to getting it polished. Samantha felt that if she was going to have an armored shadow, it should at least shine.

Though Samantha had mentally prepared herself, her resolve proved no match for her heart. When she stepped into the ballroom, the stage drew her gaze. The same stage where Corbinian had taken the Oath. The same stage where he had jumped down with his new sword on his hip, and she followed the memory across the room to the center, to where he had knelt down, looked up at her with that famous wry grin, reaching into his pocket and opening his mouth—

"Lady Samantha Mayweather!" A disembodied voice bellowed from somewhere and Samantha jumped from her memory and firmly into the room, weakly smiling at the guests.

The orchestra swelled, the glasses clinked, and the Vaels' sycophants fawned over her appropriately. The rest eyed her dubiously; most notably the families with young single daughters. It had been just over a year since Corbinian's disappearance and now they thought she had designs on Goran? Didn't they know how much she loved Corbinian? Didn't they know how she always would? Must she show them her broken heart for it to be believed?

Of course, Goran wasn't helping. The festivities of the evening were as egregious as the palace décor. The Starkhaven Orchestra played all night. There were new tapestries stretching the length of the walls and five large golden chandeliers lining the ceiling. The centerpiece of the room was an enormous fountain that poured a thick, dark liquid – it looked like chocolate! Samantha had heard of Orlesian chocolate fountains, but this was the first time she had ever seen one.

Samantha could hear the crude whispers as she moved about the room, and though she wanted to run away, to hide and pretend the whole evening had never happened, she smiled as she should, because Goran had wanted to celebrate her name day. She had almost convinced Lady Luxley that she and Goran were like siblings when the Prince of Starkhaven interrupted the revelry. He took the stage, just as Corbinian had done, and raising his glass to Samantha, announcing that for her name day, as a special gift from him, he had personally signed her family's will out of probate.

The Mayweather estate was hers.

There was polite applause followed by whispers. Samantha glanced around the room, the thinly-veiled suspicions imprinted across the faces of seemingly everyone. Lips moved noiselessly behind the clapping, speaking close to ears adjacent to narrowed eyes. She remembered the last time she had drawn this kind of ire – after Corbinian and Sebastian had been sent away, but then, she'd had Flora and Ruxton. Now she was alone.

All the anxiety of the day – the party she didn't want, the nobility's effrontery, and the memory of a life that was supposed to be hers – clawed at her heart. Unable to escape the stares, a lump formed in her throat; she couldn't breathe. Just as Benjamin Garrity was approaching her, probably to make snarky comments about Goran, Samantha stumbled backwards, ducking into the crowd with haste. Maybe it was the mass of people or how suddenly she exited but, miraculously, she managed to make it out of the ballroom without Keis in her shadow.

She wasn't sure where she was headed as she ran through the palace hallways, taking turns randomly until she caught a sliver of moonlight streaming into an adjacent corridor. Just down the way, a set of narrow double doors sat slightly ajar, and she slipped through without thinking too deeply about where she was. It was a small room. Fleetingly, she recognized it: the spare library. The large window on the opposite wall overlooked all of Starkhaven, the skyline misshapen from the Circle's Tower absence. Samantha remembered what it looked like before.

_Are those fireworks?_

She had been looking for a hiding place, some room dark enough where she didn't have to see anything. She had erred, because in this room, she saw only Corbinian. He was at the bookcase, his hands gripping the shelves, his sword dropped to the floor, his jacket crumpled at his feet.

She hadn't been in this room since that night and felt pulled towards the bookcase, her fingers running across the wood, imagining where Corbinian's hands had been as he pressed their bodies together. She laid her forehead on the book spines, rolling dust motes into her hair.

_I love you, Sammie._

She closed her eyes briefly, not wanting to cry, but when she opened them back up, something caught her attention. The only item in the room that wasn't covered in dust sat upon a small table next to a chaise lounge in the corner: a teacup. Next to the teacup was an unfolded bit of parchment. It was the letter from Kirkwall. Goran must have retreated to this room to read it.

Samantha felt terrible for invading his privacy, but lifted up the paper just the same, her curiosity about Flora's response overwhelming her self-control. What she saw wasn't Flora's handwriting.

_Goran,_

_I am not sure what new game you are playing at, but I'm not amused. Since we agreed to keep our business just between us, I can only assume the painting is either some kind of threat or a sordid request. But your affections are well known, and so I think we can come to an arrangement._

_First, I will convince my daughter to marry you. She may have spurned you on every possible occasion, but there are methods of persuasion that I am willing to use. There will be plenty of time to win her heart once we are back in Starkhaven at your invitation. It's an old custom, but the palace is empty, so there won't be too many questions when we move in. Perhaps when you produce an heir, the noble families will heed you. If you decline, then of course this dreary game will continue. Is that really what you want?_

_These little ironies may make our decisions difficult to explain to our grandchildren, but the positives far outweigh the negatives._

_Don't dawdle in your decision. While your assassins proved quite adept at tracking my idiot husband, you know that I can elude them for the rest of my life. Can you say the same of your family? The only one you have left? I know you want this to end. Consider my offer._

A sigh from the doorway made her jump and, fumbling like Goran, Samantha hastily tossed the letter back on the desk, turning to find Keis making a face at her.

"Maker's ass," Keis sighed.

"K-Keis!" Samantha stuttered dumbly. "I was… I was…"

"I know what you were doing." Keis stepped inside the room and shut the door.

Her mind was racing – the painting, the mercenary group, his family? She had to think this through, but it all seemed so unbelievable.

"Insulting, isn't it?" Keis' jaw was tight.

"Johane Harimann…?" Samantha breathed. She couldn't believe it, but Keis just nodded sadly. "This is why you've been guarding me isn't it? Why he wanted me to live here." Keis nodded again. "Why didn't Goran tell me?"

"The answer to that is obvious." Keis sounded annoyed but when Samantha just shook her head in confusion, she continued: "Because he cares enough not to worry you unnecessarily. He sent a guard to keep watch over Sebastian, too." Then she added, annoyed: "Hard-headed idiot probably doesn't even realize it."

"He did?" Samantha asked in awe, plopping down on the chaise lounge. "Why would Lady Harimann do this? The Harimanns were our friends! All of us! And now she is bargaining with the lives of her own children?" Samantha knew she sounded like a naïve little girl, but she felt like one. "Did she incite those mages at the Circle?"

Keis shrugged. "It doesn't matter."

"Yes it does!" Samantha could feel the burn in her eyes as the tears came. "It means that because of her, my Beenie is dead!"

"He was my friend, too," Keis said defensively before calming down. "He was my Captain. He is dead because his men failed in their duty to protect him, not because Lady Harimann sent assassins. We all failed that night."

Samantha felt suddenly exhausted. "Goran has known this whole time. It must be eating him up inside."

"Yes," Keis said frankly. "It is."

"Oh, Maker—and I encouraged him to send the painting!" Samantha dropped her head into her hands, not caring about her hair.

"He also sent a nurse. The letter never mentioned what happened to her."

Samantha's gaze snapped up to Keis as the enormity of the problem became very clear. Flora was in real trouble.

"What's he going to do?"

"He won't accept Lady Harimann's offer, if that's what you're asking. Beyond that, he doesn't know, yet." Keis extended her hand. "You have to clean yourself up, Get back to your party."

Samantha backed away from Keis' hand. "I can't go back there! What am I supposed to do, pretend none of this happened? Dance and smile and talk to people like everything is fine?!"

"That's exactly what you're going to do." She yanked Samantha up by the shoulders. "Because you have to. Because His Highness put this night together for _you_ so that you might have something normal for your name day. He thinks of you as his sister, you know."

Samantha couldn't help the tears falling then, and Keis swore under her breath.

"Maker, don't cry," she mumbled, and unbelievably pulled out a handkerchief from somewhere – Samantha would never be able to tell where she kept it. "Deep breaths. Come on now. In. Out. That's it."

As Samantha breathed in and out to regain her composure, she realized she would need to tell Sebastian about all of this. He had a right to know, but would he confront Lady Johane? Would this strengthen Sebastian's resolve into retaking the prince's seat? Would Goran fight him? That last notion was confusing – _they were_ _family_.

"You're right." Samantha drew her fingers underneath her eyes to remove the smudges of makeup. "Thank you, Keis. I don't know if I should say something to Goran."

Keis thought about that. "If the moment comes, you'll know."

She followed Keis numbly through the hallways back to the ballroom. She tried to focus, but her mind was still reeling. _The Lady is Johane Harimann_! _Johane Harimann hired assassins to kill all the Vaels_! _Johane Harimann tried to usurp the throne of Starkhaven_. _Had Goran been complicit in her crimes, or did he always try to resist her? And did that even matter, because, after all, he had eventually fought back? _

When they approached the large archway that led into the ballroom, Keis nudged her hard, and she stumbled forward, quickly catching herself and gracefully turning the stumble into a walk as she reentered the revelry. Samantha turned a hasty glare on the warrior, who just motioned for her to turn back around, to rejoin her party. _Maker, she's infuriating!_ Samantha wished that Keis was less intimidating, so she could be properly mad at her, but when she spotted Goran across the room, the party's extravagance dulled.

The people moved around her or maybe she moved around them, a blurry mess of color with the sounds of the orchestra, forks tapping against plates, and glasses clinking together in toasts. A giant grandfather clock ticked loudly and then faded away as she maneuvered around groups of people. She stopped somewhere in the middle when Vincent Tyler wished her a happy day and she accepted his words with a distant smile and a passing thought of his cat.

But she couldn't remove her eyes from Goran. What was she supposed to say? She tried to reconcile the Goran she had come to know with the Goran that was fighting Lady Harimann. Had he known of the plot to kill the Vaels? Had he orchestrated his survival? That made no sense! Goran was gentle and kind – but had also hired assassins not only to hunt down the Flint Mercenaries, but the Harimanns, too. Could he really be so ruthless?

Goran caught her eye and smiled and she had a flash of him as a little boy. Pudgy and sweaty, scraping eggs from his plate with the same look in his eyes. She would never have thought, back then, that Goran would turn out to be one of the most important people in her life.

The orchestra finished their song and the applause that followed made Samantha feel out of place. A passing servant offered her a glass of wine and she accepted it gratefully, tossing it back before grabbing another as she watched Goran and Lord Fortney politely bow to each other. When he stepped away, Samantha saw an opening to approach him, but Arianna Marziano moved in front of her, smiling with her eyes full of secrets.

"Hello, Sammie," she purred, enunciating syllables no one else would.

"Arianna." She smiled hastily, glancing at Goran. "Enjoying the party?"

"Of course, but a party is a party, no? And all these boys… there is no one new." Arianna flipped her blonde hair around and lowered her voice when she said, "Oh, speaking of boys, have you heard about Sebastian?"

"Mmm?" Samantha really wasn't paying attention.

"They say he is looking for supporters to return to Starkhaven. For the prince's seat. But no one supports him. They all say no." Arianna giggled.

This got her attention. "What?"

"He intends to lay siege on his own home! Can you believe it? That's all anyone's talking about." She wiggled with what seemed like pleasure. "Do you think he'll take prisoners?" Her eyes grew wide with excitement when she asked, "Do you think he'll question us himself?"

In his letters, Sebastian implied that he was looking for support to lay claim to the prince's seat, but Arianna was implying that he was trying to raise an army. An army! Sebastian Vael was returning to Starkhaven with an army to forcibly remove his cousin from power? That idea was ludicrous. And reckless. And unnecessary! And violent! All he truly had to do was come back and lay legal claim to the throne for the council to consider, not march in with soldiers ready to kill on his command! _What is he thinking?_

Arianna glanced over her shoulder, following Samantha's gaze to Goran. "You think Goran will fight him?" Samantha had no idea. Arianna smiled playfully. "Maybe he is the strong silent type after all, yes?"

This was the final straw on an already-chaotic evening, and she shot Arianna a glare. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Arianna visibly startled. "Sammie, I didn't mean—"

"Yes, you did," she shot back and turned abruptly, walking away in a huff.

The implication was insulting. Goran had been so generous, graciously taking in his dead brother's betrothed. He hadn't had to do that. He didn't have to do a lot of things, and Samantha wanted to defend him to everyone, but felt irritated that she needed to.

After tossing back her second glass and slapping it down on a nearby table, she strode across the room towards Goran. He was laughing awkwardly with Lord Garrity who, Samantha imagined, was probably making some awful insinuation that Goran didn't understand. Upon reaching the pair, she placed a hand on Goran's shoulder, and he actually seemed relieved at her interruption.

"You haven't asked me to dance," she said politely and Goran bowed his excuse to Lord Garrity.

"Thank you," he breathed once they were away. "If I hear one more question about how many bedrooms the palace has…" He slid an arm around her waist and lifted her palm into the air. Arianna was shaking her head innocently from afar.

Samantha wanted to scream in frustration, but instead she said, "You wouldn't believe what Arianna just said—never mind. They are all being rude."

"They are?" He was so unaware about some things; it was endearing. "Don't let them scare you off, Sammie. I saw you disappear once already. People were starting to think you ditched your own party."

"I nearly did." She huffed, scowling at Arianna.

Goran was watching someone else, his expression uneasy. "I should ditch it with you. I forgot that I hate these things."

Samantha looked up into his Vael-blue eyes and he smiled back. _This is the Goran Vael I know_, her mind screamed as her body discovered that Goran knew how to dance. _He is not a murderer. He's trying to protect his family. _His brows came together slightly as he looked at her.

Maybe he should accept the proposal, just to get Flora out of Kirkwall, but then go back on the deal. It was an atrocious thought, and Samantha could hear her father's voice in her head: _you don't need deceit to win._ Was there an honorable solution? Was it honorable to let someone else manipulate the world for their own twisted purpose? What was honor anyway if it couldn't save anyone?

"You're probably in shock," he said, though when she gave him a confused look he clarified: "About your estate."

"Oh." She was entirely unconcerned about her estate.

He seemed alarmed. "Isn't that what you wanted?"

"What?" Samantha couldn't concentrate because she was thinking that she would need to tell him that she had seen the letter. She would need to tell him about Sebastian. But would Goran fight him? Would he do anything to prevent it?

"Your estate?" he asked again. "I'm sorry it took so long. I was so nervous it wouldn't be done in time for your name day."

Her head was swimming. "Oh. Right. I don't know—I mean, yes. Thank you. For my estate." Who else knew? Keis – yes. Did any other guards know? Did the guard watching over Sebastian know?

Goran seemed confused as he watched her. "You don't look happy."

Why should she be happy? Her best friend's mother had orchestrated the events that led to the death of her Beenie! The more Samantha thought about it, the more it seemed like Lady Johane had incited the Circle's rebellion to cover it up. The rebellion that had killed Arianna Marziano's father. Lord Kendall. Vincent Tyler's cat. Those events that had enabled to her brother to escape the Circle and brutally torture and murder her parents. And she had watched all of it from the corner of her parent's bedroom, the glass chandelier tinkling in the darkness above and the terrible whimpering—the room started the spin, and she had to close her eyes.

"What's wrong?" Goran stopped dancing, lowering her hand from the air.

Why in the Maker's name did she want her estate back? She couldn't go back there! Not just because she might be safest from Lady Harimann's assassins at the royal palace, but that the very idea of setting foot in that hallway wobbled in her knees. The letter aside, the waking nightmare was across the neighborhood and still lurking in her parents' room.

She couldn't think of anything to say except: "I guess the thought of going back there—"

"What?" He didn't apologize for startling her before exclaiming: "You can't move out."

"Move out—?"

"It was just a name day present!" he said reactively. "I thought it's what you wanted."

Was it? She couldn't think. "Of course I'll stay here."

"Good." He seemed relieved, and then he resumed the dance.

She had to keep herself together, but he was making it hard to concentrate. After the dance, a passing servant offered her a glass of wine and she accepted it gratefully, tossing it back quickly. The orchestra started playing something whimsical, which usually inspired a group dance, but Samantha didn't let Goran go. She had to say something. About Lady Johane. About Sebastian. _Goran was her family_. The only one she had left.

With the stomping and the clapping, she could talk to him and no one would hear. So, she took a chance. "Do you like being prince?"

He moved his brows together again and she waited through his customary pause before he answered. "It doesn't really matter, does it? I don't really have a choice."

"What if you did?"

"I don't." He seemed slightly annoyed.

She brought her teeth together, unsure how to get him to think about Sebastian's return. Lady Johane was in Kirkwall right now, the same city in which Sebastian was negotiating his return to Starkhaven. Were they working together, Samantha wondered? She shook that thought away, Sebastian would never negotiate with Flora's life like that... would he? He was so good at debate, Samantha remembered, that he could probably convince himself of just about anything.

Goran interrupted her thoughts. "Beenie wouldn't want to be prince, you know. I've thought about that. He would make me do it."

Samantha felt the blood drain from her face. He was thinking about the return of a different Vael. They hadn't spoken about the possibility that Corbinian was alive since the year before, when they had met after the Destruction of the Starkhaven Circle Tower. She felt stronger since then but still, simply talking about the possibility that Corbinian was alive, here in the very ballroom where he had proposed, now during her twenty-fifth name day celebration, after having learned of who was responsible for the Vael family's murder, surrounded by one hundred of Granite Circle's richest nobles who could live on this sort of gossip... It felt vulgar.

Inches away, Goran seemed unaware of her reaction. "When he gets back—"

"Stop it!" she nearly yelled above the clapping, forgetting her manners.

"Oh." He started back. "I'm sorry—"

"This is not proper conversation," Samantha muttered, though she wasn't sure if she meant for the party, because people were spying on them from all over the room, or because she couldn't handle that thought right then. She huffed out a sigh, because even learning all of these horrible things was no excuse to be rude. "Forgive me."

"Forgive _you_?" he blurted. "You've done nothing wrong! I'm sorry, you're right. I shouldn't say that stuff. At least in front of people. I mean, these people. You know what I mean."

Samantha felt terrible for her outburst; it had taken months to get him to let his guard down and be comfortable enough to talk and now she was shutting him down. "No. I shouldn't have snapped at you like that."

He sighed, rubbing his forehead. "I spent all last year thinking about how much I hated being Prince. How much I hate having all these people around me all the time. I spent every morning alone and all day with men in suits and glasses who looked at paper more than me."

She marveled at how simply he could turn things around. He was at once infuriating and vulnerable, a complete mystery and yet wide open.

"It does me no good to think about that stuff," he said a little awkwardly.

"I didn't know. You never let on…" But she realized that he _did_ let it show; she just hadn't known him well enough to see it. "Is it better now?"

Goran offered a small smile. "To tell you the truth, I look forward to four things every day: breakfast, afternoon tea, dinner, and then after dinner in the library."

Everything they did together that he used to do with his family, she realized. It wasn't such a terrible thing to admit that he needed people without pretense, and they had become family when Corbinian had proposed. In her heart, Samantha knew that she needed him as well, not just for the connection to her lost future, but to be grounded to the last person who could feel what she felt when she looked at those paintings of the lost Vaels.

His gaze drifted down to her necklace. Though it had the Vael crest on it, he never mentioned it. Samantha had been wearing the locket ever since it had been returned to her, often wrapping her fingers around it without thinking, which is what she found herself doing just then.

"I want you to promise me something, Goran," she said with complete seriousness. "I want you to swear."

"Name it." He was so obliging to go wherever the conversation went; it was sort of sweet.

"I want you to promise me, that if you ever find out who killed our family, I want you to swear that you will hunt them down – every last person responsible – and kill them."

Though all other indications suggested he had stopped dead, he was still breathing; she could hear it. He looked down at her with his Vael-blue eyes and whispered, "Done."

"Maybe part me believes he is still alive," she admitted, and the locket around her neck felt heavy. "But it's not an easy thing to believe."

It wasn't such a terrible thing to admit, and he gave her that sad half smile that meant he understood completely.

"One more request." She knew he would say yes the moment the words left her mouth. "Will you come with me to visit my estate? I don't think I can go back there alone."

Goran reached for her hand. "You will never have to go anywhere alone."


	24. 9:33 Dragon, Winter

**9:33 Dragon, Winter**

The cold was biting. It seeped through Samantha's hair to her neck, and she shrugged her shoulders to bring the fur collar of her velvet coat up to her ears. Her hands, even inside the fur-lined gloves, felt nearly frozen, but it wasn't the cold that numbed her legs. It was the polished brick walkway, the stone porch, the freshly trimmed shrubs that sat beneath wide windows which framed massive double doors. She looked up to the gray stone frame that arced up and around and back down, like a mouth without teeth. The archway of her estate loomed over her like a tombstone. Her last name was even etched into the stone above.

"It's clear." Ser Traven stepped through the archway of the Mayweather Estate and out into the grey morning.

"As it was six months ago," one of the other two Templars muttered.

Samantha didn't know his name nor did she care.

"Fortunately for you, or else we would all see what a coward you are," Keis remarked, stepping past the glowering recruit and into the estate.

Samantha watched her survey the entryway, cautiously evaluating the smooth tiled floor, pushing back the curtains around the windows that framed the doorway, looking behind plants, and lifting the corners of the rug.

"You think demons hide under rugs?" the nameless Templar asked.

"No." If Keis was bothered by the man, she didn't show it. "I think assassins set traps where they know facing their enemy would mean certain death." She stood up straight and looked over to Traven. "I thought there were tests to become a Templar."

"There are." He sighed, but before the young recruit could speak up, Traven shot him a look and he closed his mouth.

Goran squeezed her hand. "You want to go home?" he asked, and he meant the royal palace.

"No," Samantha whispered. "I've put this off long enough."

"Anytime you want to leave, just say."

With a deep breath of the cold air inside her, Samantha stepped through the archway of her estate. The first thing that caught her was the stale air, though it was obvious that the servants had tried their best to freshen it up. The railing to the stairs looked nearly new; someone had polished it to a shine. There were flowers on the entryway table, sitting in a new vase atop a thin tablecloth made of lace. The house was alight as well, softly aglow as though every window had its curtains drawn open. As Samantha looked around, everything seemed similar to the way she had left it, but something was off. The place had been cleaned, of course, and those things that she had disturbed as she fled her home had been set back in order. Still, it was missing something.

Samantha let her gaze wander up the stairs and she felt a surge of courage as she reached out to the banister to take that first step. Keis moved past her and ascended the stairs, reaching the top in record time before surveying the hallway and then disappearing down the corridor. Samantha held onto Goran's arm tightly as she turned the corner of the stairs and the steps turned routine.

She reached the top and came face-to-face with her parents. They stared out from golden picture frames, their shoulders square and their jaws set firm. Her mother was giving a faint smile and her father was lifting his chin in Mayweather pride. They weren't nearly as beautiful as anything Goran could paint. She had never given it much thought before, but now the portraits seemed so very dull, lacking character and color and movement. They were shades of themselves. These were the corpses inside the tomb, decorated in faded yellows and blues.

She looked down the hallway to her parent's room. "Is the… chandelier…?"

"I had it removed." Goran understood. When she started down the hallway, he said: "You don't have go in there."

"Yes, I do."

She held onto his arm as they moved down the hallway, past the dull portraits and that stupid painting of flowers that used to be Innley, past the lounges and the tables and finally around the corner to her parents' room.

It was full of light. She looked across the room to the wide-open curtains that revealed a pair of marvelously large windows set close to each other that she had never seen. Her mother always hated opening those curtains, because the room overlooked the gardens of the Tylers' Estate, and she hated the layout of their flowerbeds. It was a silly thing, Samantha had always thought.

She looked up at the ceiling and, sure enough, the chandelier was gone, replaced with a different one made of steel. It was an odd choice for a fixture.

"I didn't want the servants to have to lower it to polish the silver all the time," Goran explained from the doorway. "So, I had them fashion one with steel. It looks near the same."

Samantha figured it did – it was awfully clever of Goran to think of that. But she lingered on it too long and caught subtle differences in the way the light reflected off the metal. It had a flat sheen rather than natural silver's textured shine. It was altogether unremarkable, which didn't match the rest of the room's furnishings.

"Doing okay?"

"Yes." Samantha was somewhat surprised as she surveyed the room, her eyes drawn to the corner in which she had crouched away from Innley. But the room was so bright, so different. She looked over to the bureau, where Innley would always hide when, ironically enough, they played Mages-and-Templars when they were kids, now stuffed with the clothes of the mother he had murdered. The bed was smooth, but the blanket was different; it was a shade of green her mother would have hated. Her mother's vanity still had all her rings on their settings and necklaces on their hooks, and Samantha was reminded of how often she had sat at that vanity back when she was too tiny for her feet to reach the floor, putting three rings on each finger and coloring her cheeks bright red with rouge. But something was missing in this room as well, though she wasn't sure what.

"Which way is your room?" Goran looked back down the hallway.

"First one to the left of the stairs." She gestured and he followed her down to her door.

Her room was a sight to behold. Her bed had been remade with fresh linens and another new blanket, this one was pale yellow. Her vanity was just as she left it, and whoever had taken time to dust each individual perfume bottle had replaced them in exactly the same spots. The curtains were drawn open of course, and the soft wintery light made everything seem clean and soft. Some leafy-green potted plant was set on the window sill.

_This is very storybook of us. What will the bards say when they tell our story?_

Keis appeared in the doorway. "There's no one here."

Goran nodded and Keis disappeared into the hallway again.

"You have a nice room." Goran was staring at her ceiling.

Samantha looked up to see the chandelier that she had never paid much attention to. It was a nice fixture, and she remembered how her mother had gone on and on about how many candles it would hold – thirty. Of course, her father declared it a fire hazard and no more than ten had ever been lit at once, and only because Samantha had begged to see it when she was ten.

"Is that you?" He pointed to a painting on the wall.

"Yes." Samantha had forgotten about it.

Her father had it commissioned when she had turned five in celebration of when she finished her very first book, a silly little collection of poems called _Odes to Bees_. In the painting, Samantha was sitting on one of the wrought-iron benches in her estate's gardens. She was wearing a light-blue dress with a full skirt, puffy sleeves, and a long ribbon in her hair, which had been nearly blonde in her youth. Samantha stared at the girl who had her gaze pointed down, her tiny hands holding a too-big book, one foot dangling down from the bench, not reaching the grass, and the other tucked underneath her, hidden from view. That little girl never saw any of this coming.

"It's very soft." Goran was talking about the brush strokes. "Look at the way the colors don't have clean lines. See how they bleed into each other a little bit? It's like someone painted this to look intentionally fuzzy. Like a memory."

Samantha stared at the little girl who was just a memory.

"It's beautiful." He touched the frame, making sure it was lined up right.

Only Goran would see this painting and think it was beautiful, but looking at it brought about feelings of dread in Samantha. It was like she was looking through a window and seeing the past, and she wanted to warn the little girl of what was coming, but she couldn't. She could only watch as the child tiptoed slowly through a darkened hallway to the soft light emanating from her parents room while loud booms from someplace close shook the floor.

"Sammie?" Goran placed his hand on her shoulder.

Maybe she knew she would cry all along, but she never thought it would be from looking at this painting. It came to her then: what was missing in her parent's room was her parents themselves. What was missing in the hallway was the sounds of people. What was missing in the entryway was the servants. The furniture was different, the linens were different, the air was still. The house was a tomb and Samantha wondered if she would die in it, too.

"How do you do it, Goran?" She let the tears fall, plunking down on her velvet coat.

His silence was enough to relay his confusion at the question.

"You live in the palace where you family died. How do you stand it?"

"I'm the prince," Goran said sadly. "I have to live there."

Of course he did. Generations of Vaels had lived in that place, and eventually they all died there; from war, from disease, or from old age if they were lucky. But, unlike Goran, Samantha didn't have to live with the ghosts of her family, instead feeling content to keep him company with the ghosts of his.

"How did we get here? One minute you're happy and everything is great, and the next…" She remembered her last conversation with Flora. "Everyone moves."

Goran gently extended him arm across her shoulders and said nothing, and they stared at the painting that was just a memory, the remains of her innocence blurred on the wall. Another corpse in the tomb.

She figured there were some manners that all men had, and some manners that didn't matter, but knowing when a friend needs a shoulder to lean on trumped all of it.

"I need to…" She took a breath to compose herself, turning away from the painting. "I wanted to get some things."

"Take your time."

It was sitting upon her vanity, untouched by anything but time. Sliding it off the smooth glass, Samantha marveled at each diamond's perfect clarity, the band of promises that never was: her engagement ring. She had taken it off the night before, setting it in a ring-stand upon her vanity where it had remained for years… until this moment. She tilted it in her fingers, the gemstones caught the light and twinkled optimism, a bright promise of a future that now seemed like a lie. But if she believed as strongly as Goran, perhaps not. She slid the ring onto her finger.

The drawers of her vanity were sticky, and she yanked them open with effort. Ruffling through her stale underthings, she came to a pile of letters – Corbinian's letters – tied together with a lace ribbon. They were still here. She brought them up to her chest and silently thanked the Maker for sparing this last piece.

She turned back around. "I'm ready to go."

She leaned on his arm all the way back to the Royal Palace, but couldn't get that painting out of her mind. Why had it had such an emotional effect on her?

"That painting on the wall, the one of me sitting on the bench, it was clearer than that time in my own memory," she said to him. "What does that mean?"

Goran gave his usual pause, thinking about her question. "My uncle once said that if you think really hard about something for too long, it'll change in your mind. It's why he said not to wait too long before you decide what to do about it, because the details often fall away."

Samantha smiled at his memory. "When did the prince say that?"

"Uh." He fidgeted. "One time when I was a kid. I guess."

That was a strange answer. "You guess?"

"Well…" They rounded the corner to the palace, and the iron gates came into view. A group of guards saw them coming, and began calling for the massive gates to be opened. "I was thirteen."

Samantha did the math in her head and realized: "When Sebastian was exiled?"

A guard nearby turned his head sharply, hearing the exiled prince's name, and she and Goran both turned a few shades of pink, hurrying to get inside. But Goran remained quiet, and she could see that he was not prepared for the question.

She placed a hand on his arm, trying to prevent him from running off in the name of princely duty. "Please Goran. Beenie never wanted to talk about it."

"That's because we were told not to," he said shyly as he handed his coat to a female elven servant who never looked away from her toes. "But I suppose it can't hurt. Everyone who was in that room is gone…"

He led her up the stairs and down the hall into his private study. It wasn't the Office of the Prince, which was near the center of the palace, nor was it the Palace Study or the Prince's Study, but rather, the Prince's _Private_ Study – Samantha had been working hard to keep all the different rooms straight. They both set themselves on a thin-cushioned sofa, and then Goran took a deep breath. What he remembered was fragmented, but it was the first time he had ever been to a meeting of the royal family and thus the event was vivid in his memory.

He told her about the room, the Grand Room, and the intensity of it. He had been seated next to his mother during the meeting, and she had kept her hands on his shoulders – he remembered her grip was tight. Corbinian and Sebastian, both sporting bruises, stood at the front of the room while the prince was seated at the front of the table, his chair turned to face them. The same chair that Goran sat in every day – he remarked that the first time he sat in the chair as prince, he had felt so overwhelmed, he'd had to retreat to the lavatory to vomit.

"Bruises?" Samantha asked.

Goran smiled at the memory. "Yeah, they got into a big fight right in the front hallway. Took four guards to pull them apart. Keis was there, I think. She's been everywhere."

_I don't duel cousins for just anyone._

Goran continued to explain: "Beenie and Sebastian were given the opportunity to explain themselves. Sebastian said… " Goran glanced at Samantha, an embarrassed flush blooming in his cheeks. "I only really remember what Beenie said."

He paused again, but Samantha was too eager and prompted him in a tense whisper, "What did Beenie say?"

"Well, he yelled actually. He screamed like an Alamarri barbarian. He…" Goran fidgeted. "He said that… that Sebastian had… well… he used the word _rape_."

Samantha's mouth dropped open, her breath catching in her throat and, for a moment, she thought her heart would stop at the shock. Sebastian did not _rape_ her!

Goran spoke quickly after that. "Sebastian's mother was in tears. No one could believe it. But Sebastian, he didn't deny any of it. None of it. He stayed completely silent while Beenie described what happened in detail. He wasn't passed out on Lord Garrity's porch, but he was so drunk that he couldn't move to do anything about it. That's why he was so mad. Mostly at himself, but also at Sebastian."

Samantha retreated to the back of the sofa, slinking down and shifting her eyes around the room until they found a painting of calla lilies encircling a great fountain – it was the fountain in the palace gardens. The same fountain at which she and Beenie had often paused to rest on countless summer strolls. She could hear Goran talking, she could hear him mention Sebastian's name, and she could hear him describe the events as Corbinian saw them, but she felt no panic at Goran's misunderstanding of the events of that night, and instead she felt warmed by the memory of those afternoons at the fountain.

"Finally," Goran said, "they came to an arrangement, everyone was sworn to secrecy, and they said their goodbyes. And that was it." He let out a deep sigh, as though relieved the story was over.

The word _arrangement_ pulled Samantha back into the room. "What arrangement?"

"Beenie never told you?" Goran seemed impressed with his brother. "When he volunteered to take the Oath of Starkhaven, our father offered to send Beenie away to Nevarra to live with the Pentaghasts. To prove he could reform his behavior."

"Why didn't Sebastian have a similar arrangement?"

Goran paused, frowning in thought. "He didn't seem to want one. Beenie had been so… loud… during the meeting. He didn't want to be sent away."

Samantha remembered what Corbinian had told her about that night. "You mean, Beenie argued that he shouldn't be exiled, but Sebastian didn't?"

"I've never seen my brother so mad," Goran remarked quietly. "But I guess so. I mean, Sebastian didn't… At least, not in front of me."

"He said nothing?" Samantha reached up and placed a hand over the locket that always decorated her neck.

"He didn't even apologize."

Somewhere inside, someplace deep, a once-tiny dark hole began to widen. It crept up her neck and into her mouth, and for a few brief moments, she wondered if she was going to cry. Disappointment, fear, panic, helplessness; like tides of black water, the sensations washed over her and then began to recede as a warm fountain's wet memory blanketed her anxiety.

When she spoke next, her voice was measured and sure. "He behaved poorly, but he did not—"

"_Poorly_?" Goran sputtered. "He forced himself on you and only stopped after you bit him!"

The untrue words _forced himself _stung her ears, and she shook her head violently. "It wasn't like that—"

"Why do you defend him?"

"Because that's not what happened! Sebastian is a good person, he wasn't himself, but—"

"I can't believe this! You _are_ defending him!" Goran was interrupting her again. He did this when he got flustered or angry.

She was growing irritated as well, and when he finally paused, she threw the truth from her mouth before he could stop her. "He did not _force himself _on me. He was very drunk – so was I, by the way – and he kissed me. I tried to push him away, but you know Sebastian – he's strong! So, I bit him, and that's when he stopped."

Goran's pause was longer than usual, and when he spoke next, he sounded greatly offended. "He kissed you without your consent?"

Samantha let out a frustrated growl. "You're not listening to me! It was nothing but drunken stupidity! Besides, doesn't Andraste teach us to forgive? He apologized sincerely to me, and I forgave him. It's been ten years, Goran. Surely, you look in the mirror and don't see a thirteen year old boy."

"No," he said frankly. "I see a man who has never forced himself—

"_He didn't do that!_" she yelled, feeling attacked.

Goran cringed at her verbal assault, and when he looked down at his hands, she felt terrible for losing her temper. She opened her mouth to apologize, but he interrupted again.

"I'm sorry for upsetting you," he said earnestly. "But, this wasn't some—" Goran paused, searching for the right words. "—failure at etiquette. No prince – no son of the prince – should behave like he did."

She tried to reconcile the look he was giving her with the forcefulness of his words. It reminded her the way her father would look at her when he talked about Adain, like he wanted to protect her from all the bad things in the world, as impossible as that was. Goran clearly wanted to protect her, too. All she had to do was look at Keis to see that.

"He didn't injure me," she insisted, now attempting to comfort Goran. "Beenie may have seen more than what was there because of his feelings for me. If he were here today, he would tell you that Sebastian is very different now. He is devoted to his vows, to living a holy life. Believe me, we've exchanged many letters."

"Are you still?" Goran seemed very interested in the answer.

Samantha snapped her mouth shut, instantly regretful that she had just admitted to corresponding with Sebastian – something she hadn't told anyone about because of her promises to both Sebastian and Taletha. She didn't want to lie to Goran, though. "A few. He is—"

"When was the last one?"

Samantha sat up. "Why?"

"I'm curious." He narrowed his eyes.

"You see the post come through every day—"

"But never a letter from him."

The sudden tension between them was unmistakable; it was the first time that Samantha had ever felt it. Always so open, so transparent in his emotions, but now he looked to her like a frozen pond, opaque with suspicion.

The sudden revelation of her secret brought about tremendous guilt, and the way he was regarding her with trepidation seized her heart with panic. Why was she trying to force Goran to forgive Sebastian, anyway? That was his decision, just as it had been hers. Sebastian was her friend, wasn't he? No matter how great the folly, a singular night of drunken stupidity – Sebastian had mistaken her drunken revelry for a flirtatious invitation – wasn't reason enough to give up on him. Hadn't she committed sins in similar revelry?

If he had wanted to commit himself to the act, he could have advanced upon her even after she'd bitten him, but he hadn't. He had walked away. He _had _stopped.

"I am sorry," Samantha said but Goran didn't seem ready to accept it. There was only one thing that she was good at: the truth. Goran was her family, and she owed him that. She took a deep breath and said, "You're right. I've been writing to him, sneaking letters through a chanter so they won't be intercepted by the Knight Commander. She has been carrying our correspondence back and forth between us for a year. I told him about the Flint Mercenaries—" Goran's gaze sprung back to her as if from a slingshot. "—and about Lady Harimann. I overheard you and I found a letter from Kirkwall that I thought was from Flora. _I wasn't spying_. I found these things accidentally. I'm truly sorry that I didn't tell you about it then."

She felt afraid that he would think terrible things about her because she had deceived him. Afraid that he would kick her out of the palace. But it wasn't the living arrangements that made her tear up – it was the idea of losing Goran Vael, her best friend. Mostly, she was afraid he would think their friendship had been a lie, too.

Once he saw her tears, he pushed his fingers through his hair with a tired sigh. "Sammie… You endanger yourself for a—he's not who you think he is."

"He is my friend. Just like you are," she said sincerely. "He didn't deny what he was accused of, did he? He didn't call Beenie a liar?"

"No…" And then he shook his head. "I'm not going to stand aside if he decides to come back. I don't care how terrible I am at being prince. What he did… There are consequences for that. He lost his birthright. He accepted that punishment. If the prince's seat is to mean anything, it's that decisions aren't made meaningless when the prince dies."

Samantha thought that was the most eloquent thing Goran had ever said.

"What if he comes back, but not as prince? What if he asks to come back?"

Goran hemmed a little, eventually bringing his eyes back to hers, but they were hardened in decision. "Stay here. I'll be right back."

He disappeared from the room, and Samantha noticed Keis watching her from the hallway; she had heard the whole thing. She had been right, too; Keis had said that Samantha would tell Goran about her discovery of Lady Harimann's letter when the right moment presented itself. And it had.

Goran returned in short order and sat down next to her, looking somewhere between guilty and shameless as he handed Samantha a carefully folded up bit of parchment. It had a broken seal – Sebastian's seal from Kirkwall. Samantha's mouth dropped open.

"What is this?" she asked him.

"It's a letter from him," Goran said self-righteously. "I knew you were exchanging letters. I've known for a while. But when… well, read the letter."

Samantha couldn't remove her eyes from him as she unfolded the note. Its corners were worn like it had been read again and again.

_Dearest Sammie,_

_I'd been staring at this page for a long time, unsure what to write, until it occurred to me that you have lost as much as I and deserve to know who was responsible. I want you to prepare yourself, because I intend to tell you the truth about what happened. _

_After I received your letter, I decided to confront Lady Harimann. It was reckless, but I asked for help from the Fereldan refugee that I hired to hunt down the Flint Mercenary Company, a colorful character named Hawke. It turned out to be a wise decision._

_First, I want to reassure you that Flora, Ruxton, and Brett are all safe and mostly unharmed. _

_When we first entered the estate, we found there were no guards. Some rooms were well kept and others were in a shambles. We found Brett boiling the Harimann's golden heirlooms down to a liquid. It looked like he intended to pour it over some unfortunate servant girl's head. We found Ruxton in his quarters with an elven slave, and he was forcing her to do unspeakable acts of a sexual nature. We found Flora down in the wine cellars, more compromised than I have seen anyone, mumbling to herself. But perhaps the worst thing we found was in the basement._

_We discovered Lady Johane on her knees begging for power from a demon. The discovery that she was a mage was shocking enough, but it was the demon that surprised us all. It had a name. I thank the Maker that Hawke was with me, for I don't think I could have survived the encounter alone. It used Lady Johane's desire against her, promising her power to rule Starkhaven while feeding off her family. I had heard that my father asked her to leave, but I sincerely doubt that he thought she would use these methods to return._

_I killed her, Sammie. I put arrow after arrow into her chest until she was dead._

_That's not the worst part, either. Before I killed her, the demon spoke to us, but it was the things that it spoke inside my head that have shaken me to the core. I have felt things that I haven't felt in years; jealousy, avarice, vengeance. I know that demons can often see into the weakest parts of us, but somehow everything felt wrong. Even now, after hours of prayer, I don't know if what I have done is a sin or if it is justice. Are my plans to return to Starkhaven born from sin as well? I thought the Maker wanted me to be prince, but now I wonder if he was testing my faith._

_Flora came to me on numerous occasions and I turned her away every time because of my selfishness and shame. What kind of leader turns away from their friends? I told her we were friends, but I haven't been a very good one. I will visit her soon. No doubt she is shaken with her own experience and the loss of her mother._

_I'm sorry to burden you with my own personal struggles, Sammie. I thought that avenging my parents' murder would bring me peace, but it has only brought more anguish. I don't expect you to have the answers, and it pains me to bring you this news, because the last thing I want is to cause you any more pain._

_Please write to me._

_Maker guide us through this difficult time,_

_Your friend, Sebastian_

After the relief that Flora was alive washed away, Samantha lifted her palms to her eyes and started to cry. Goran reached over and did what came naturally: he hugged her close. His embrace was comforting, but in that moment she felt like a failure. Goran was her friend more than Sebastian had ever been, and yet she had deceived the former to conspire with the latter. Friendship wasn't always a two-way street, as sometimes it was more important to give than to receive, but aside from the locket that she wore around her neck – that Goran had never mentioned and now she knew why – Sebastian had only taken.

Why couldn't she be mad at him? The things Sebastian spoke about – his vanishing certainty about his life – made her remember the boy she knew before the brother he had become.

Sebastian Vael was polite and kind when his parents were watching, but every girl and boy in Granite Circle knew that when the prince and princess turned their heads, he was trouble – and not the bad kind. He was fun; just the right amount of brash and always up for a challenge. Corbinian had once said that Sebastian was everything a Vael really was but will never show, and eventually she got to see it – in more ways than one. Corbinian was just the same, but somehow he had learned to find the balance between the brash and the pretension, and turn it into character. Sebastian always had a hard time figuring that part out, and it seemed that hadn't changed.

Some of the nobles had called it the Third Vael Syndrome, meaning that once _the heir and the spare_ were taken care of, he was just dead weight. It was a callous thing to suggest, especially about a prince. Sebastian had ignored the gossip, declaring that his parents were just _traditional_, which meant that they didn't have children for love – they had children to fill roles and Sebastian's role was to lead the archery regiments. Corbinian disagreed, having later claimed to understand the value of titles.

To think that Sebastian Vael had used his skill with the bow as part of some mercenary group was utterly appalling. He was a prince of Starkhaven, not some common street thug. Then again, what did Samantha really know about common street thugs? She certainly had never met any – maybe they had reasons, lives that were littered with unfortunate tragedies that led them down a mercenary's path to slaughter for sovereigns. She supposed every Champion ever named was likely a mercenary of some kind – certainly Champions are never named from amongst polite society. No, she supposed that Champions and mercenaries needed to be hardened by bloodshed, to face demons and live to tell about it.

It was unbelievable that Lady Johane had given herself to such a monster; no doubt she'd thought she could resist its influence. It made Samantha's heart ache to think that she had given her children away to such a creature. Flora and Ruxton.

Suddenly Flora's letters began to come together like a ball of yarn that had been tangled, and Samantha had found the knots. Flora's headaches, Ruxton's perverse behavior, Lord Harimann's detachment, Brett's preoccupation with wealth, Lady Johane's obsession with renovating the basement; it was all at the behest of a demon.

Goran spoke into her hair as she worked to regain her composure on his shoulder. "I learned Lady Johane was killed a month ago. My agents said… they said Sebastian had done it, and I kept trying to figure out how he knew."

Samantha sniffled, and when Goran didn't offer it, she asked for his handkerchief. He fumbled an apology as he handed one over. "Keis said you made visits to the Chantry behind closed doors with a girl, some chanter, but you never cried when you came out of those visits. I'm sorry, Sammie. I know that I've invaded your privacy but I talked to the girl, Taletha. She told me about your letters."

Samantha felt cold. "Taletha?"

"It took some… influence to get her to part with this one—"

"Where is she?" Now Samantha was interrupting.

"In confinement."

"_What_?" Samantha imagined the poor girl sitting on the floor of a dank cell, the water dripping and her hair matted to her head. Echoes of Innley.

"We couldn't let her go back to Kirkwall! What's she's done—" His hands began to shake. "It's tantamount to an attack on the city. What Sebastian has done… it's treason!"

"She's just a girl!" Samantha cried.

"She is unharmed. As are you!" Goran suddenly seemed so angry. "He has _no idea_ what he's doing! He puts people in harm's way for his own _selfish_ reasons! _Can't you see that?_"

"_What are you talking about_?" Samantha yelled back.

"Who do you think was confiscating his letters after our family was murdered?" Goran was trying to calm down. "Our family – murdered by people we didn't know – and he and I are the only two left, and who does he write to? _You, Sammie._ Why not just paint a target on your back?"

"_You_ took his letters?"

"Yes!" Goran said in frustration. "And I'd do it again. How he could put you in the middle of this… it's beyond selfish."

Samantha felt very confused. "Where is Taletha now?"

"Under guard. She's in a room in the southern wing of the palace." He brought his hand to his forehead, exhausted. "It's where my niece slept, actually. The room is decorated for a little girl… I thought it appropriate."

She leaned back in her chair, sharing in his exhaustion.

He shook his head. "I'm sorry, Sammie. But I had to. The council wanted to execute her, but that's not right. They wanted to detain you, too."

A streak of fear ran through her, imagining herself in some dank cell with water dripping.

"At first…" Goran's voice turned soft, almost kind. "I thought maybe you only lived here to spy on me. Get information and give it to _him_."—Samantha shook her head—"But then I remembered that you really aren't very good at keeping secrets. You can't hide anything to save your life. You never could."—And she let out a sigh of relief—"but then I understood. You were trying to save him. You've always been trying to save him."

"What?" The word came out thin.

"He takes advantage of you, your kindness," Goran's voice was kinder than before. "You make excuses for him, you forgive every indiscretion, every change-of-heart you accept without question. You never challenge him. He can do no wrong."

"That's not true," she said quickly, but right as the words left her mouth she had to stop and reconsider. Was that true?

"Everyone is angry with him except you, you know."

That was probably true.

"Why?" he asked her.

Samantha wanted to have an answer, more than she had wanted anything in a long time, but she could only think of one thing to say: "He's my friend."

"He's not Beenie." Goran's words carried so much weight, they dropped into Samantha's stomach like rocks.

She blinked and when her eyes fully closed, the warm tears turned cold and slipped out. "But…"

"I think he's out there, too." His voice was as soft as his hands, wrapped around Samantha's. "My guards scour the country to this day, but Beenie will save himself. He always has. Sebastian… he's not like Beenie."

"I…" Maker… she missed Corbinian with a splitting ache that flowed through her, jagged and rushing like the Minanter River. Was Goran right; was she expecting Sebastian to come back with Corbinian in tow? Was she expecting Sebastian to be like him? Now that the question was inside her head, the answer came loudly: _it's not possible_. Corbinian could be cunning and clever, but sneaking through a girl's window was not the same thing as plotting to overthrow a prince. How could Sebastian not see that?

It occurred to her then that she and Flora never did answer that question that had plagued Flora for all those years: What did Sebastian want? Samantha had to wonder about his indecisiveness, and what it would truly take for him to march back into Starkhaven.

"I read that letter," Goran continued. "He _still_ can't make decisions about his own life – how is he supposed to govern a city? He sits there in Kirkwall, wallowing in his own troubles while the rest of us have moved on. _Starkhaven has moved on._ She doesn't need him. She doesn't want him."

Samantha felt terrible, mostly because she knew that Goran was right.


	25. 9:33 Dragon, Summer

_AN: Thank you for the reviews!_

**9:33 Dragon, Summer**

_Sammie, my friend,_

_Thank you for your offer but I'm sorry, I don't think I can come back to Starkhaven. Maybe not ever._

_I am not surprised by your generosity, but Goran's is a bit of a shock. I don't deserve the attention he gives me. I know what you're going to say, and I will write to him, but… What my family has done, what I was unable to prevent even though the signs were glaring… it fills me with rage. It fills me with more than that: with grief and guilt and shame. I treated him so poorly over the years. Why would he forgive me?_

_Some days I am glad that Sebastian killed my mother. Other days I wish I had done it myself. I can't even remember that night. The last thing I remember was that I was getting ready for Chantry service, and the next thing I know Sebastian is waking me up from where I lay on the dirty floor of the wine cellar with the worst headache of my life. I almost wish you could have seen the way he looked at me. The disgust, the pity… that's exactly the way everyone in Starkhaven will look at me, too. It's bad enough coming from him. I nearly lost it right in front of him and his strange mercenary group – that would have been the cherry on top._

_I appreciate your attempts at softening the truth, but I have heard what everyone is saying. Vincent and Benjamin won't write me back but there are those that will, and they have made it quite clear that the Harimann name is ruined._

_I know that my mother was not the only family vying for power in Starkhaven, and that's why I promised Sebastian that I would give him whatever support he needed moving forward. Yes, Sammie, as reparations, I gave him my estate. He said it would never make up for what my family has done, but that he would call on me when he needed me. I can't tell you the pain that his words caused me. His voice and the way he looked at me… _

_You asked about my family. Well, it's not good._

_They found Father's body under a port in the Docks District. Fitting, isn't it? The great Lord Harimann who gave money to those Fereldan rats, killed in the streets and fed to the Kirkwall rats. I didn't even know, because that demon restricted every thought I had. Brett's wife left him and she took the kids, too. She called him a monster, and when we all tried to explain that it was the demon, she refused to listen! I think she went to back to Starkhaven, but I honestly don't know. I can't blame her for trying to salvage her reputation for her children. Ruxton is beside himself, and I don't know how to console him. I won't go into details for his sake, but suffice to say that the demon influenced him to act in a manner that is completely opposite to his nature and now he is a complete mess. It's like he doesn't know who he is anymore. Sometimes I wonder if any of us do._

_What my mother has done, it can't be made right. Everyone I have loved, every place I have called home, every friendship, everything that bears my family's name is now tainted because of her and that demon._

_This is madness, but I am grateful that I still have you, Sammie. It's nice to know that somewhere in the world, someone still loves me._

_Love, Flora_

Samantha had cried so thoroughly after reading the letter that Goran had to arrange for her to receive a sedative. The blessedly dreamless sleep that followed was the best gift he could have given her. But when she woke in her official room, Samantha still felt exhausted.

_Flora_. Her best friend was suffering. Samantha had written to her insisting that she come back to Starkhaven, offering her a home and protection, but Flora had refused. She was correct in her thinking that the nobles of Granite Circle would be reluctant to accept her back, but Samantha felt a surge of anger towards Sebastian for having worded it the way he had. She had heard of the Harimanns' demon from him, but many others in Starkhaven had heard from different sources and most of them came from Kirkwall. To Samantha, that meant that Sebastian had been careless with the information. This was all Lady Johane's doing – not that of her family. Understandably, he was upset, but Flora, Brett, and Ruxton weren't at fault. They were supposed to be his friends.

This was not the way things were supposed to have turned out. Flora and Samantha were raised as ladies of Starkhaven, believing that others around the world would look to them and admire them for their taste and beauty. They were supposed to be at once amazing and vulnerable, confident but with softness and mystery. But it was difficult to be confident with softness when people were dying. It was hard to be amazing and vulnerable when all that she could muster was survival. There was no mystery is loss.

Samantha had always assumed when she was of age, she and Corbinian would set out to see the world, for as the Marquess' wife, one of her primary duties was to be worldly. She had dreamed that they would go to exotic places and meet all kinds of people; more than just nobility or royalty, but the extraordinary. Scholars, heroes... She had been excited about leaving the frivolousness of her mother's occupation behind, finding nothing worthwhile about it except mockery. Similar to Samantha, Flora had spurned these notions but for entirely different reasons. She was not amazing and vulnerable – she was amazing and opinionated. She wasn't confident with softness; she was confident with perseverance. Flora was a lady but also a fighter. She had never once fit in with the noble society of Starkhaven.

None of that mattered anymore, though, because they were never going to become who they had been raised to be.

She showed Goran the letter and he only sighed when he read the part about Flora giving her estate to Sebastian. Samantha had only been living with Goran for more than a year, but she felt like she knew him better than anyone in Starkhaven. Truthfully, she didn't know what Goran would do if Sebastian came blazing back into the city with an army at his back, as offensive as that notion was. Samantha hadn't told Goran of Sebastian's plans to return to Starkhaven. But, knowing how indecisive Sebastian was, she hoped that he would change his mind. Or at least, that enough time would pass for Goran to grow into the role of prince.

"What are you going to do?" she asked him.

"I'll send some of my advisors to Kirkwall." Goran set the letter down on the table.

A servant came in and poured steaming hot tea into their tiny porcelain cups.

Samantha couldn't figure out why Sebastian would listen to Goran's advisors. "To do what?"

"To help her get her estate back in order." Goran scowled into his teacup. "I should send another nurse, too."

"Oh! I thought you meant…" She lifted a tired hand to her forehead. "She'll appreciate that. Flora is an idiot with numbers."

He offered a small grin, but it didn't match his eyes, which were filling up with worry. "My uncle didn't want everyone to know, but it was just Lady Johane that was asked to leave Starkhaven – not her children. So…Flora can return."

Samantha watched him as he lifted his teacup to his mouth and she thought that he and Corbinian couldn't be any different. Corbinian never would have chased after a girl who showed no interest. Of course, no girl had ever said no to Corbinian Vael. Goran fumbled for the right words, had a hard time keeping eye contact, and regularly checked out of conversations, which made him look rather dense.

Goran was staring at the unfolded letter on the table when he said out of the clear blue sky, "You're my only friend, you know."

Samantha thought that was truly unfortunate, and she reached for his hand, finding his skin hot from the teacup.

"I would do anything I could if you needed it. That's what friends do." He pushed the edge of the letter around the table with his other hand. "Why is that such a disgusting thing from me?"

"It's not disgusting." And that was a fact.

"So what is wrong with me? Why am I now too good for her?" He seemed truly confused.

For the first time, Samantha felt strongly that Goran deserved better than Flora. He deserved a girl who liked him for him, flaws and all.

"That's not it," she said soothingly. "I don't mean for this to sound harsh, but this isn't about you. Flora feels ashamed. Her family…" Samantha felt a little lightheaded at the words. "…killed your family. She feels tremendous guilt over that, even if she had no knowledge of it."

"So, what?"

"Goran." Now she felt he was being willfully thick. "Surely you can see how that presents a bit of a problem with a match."

"No." He shook his head. "It changes nothing. She was as much a victim as me."

Samantha wrinkled her nose. "Many others won't see it that way."

"Who cares what they think?" He said defiantly.

"You're the prince now," she said gently, but there was no gentle way to say this. "You can't marry the daughter of your parent's murderer." But when Goran began to protest, she interjected. "Goran, you said it yourself – the prince's seat has to _mean _something. It's more than just… decisions and politics. You have to be more than just a man. You have to be an ideal."

"I don't want to be an ideal!" He blurted, but then seemed to realize that his words were naïve, because he laid his head down on the table. "Maker… how did things get so messed up?"

Samantha laid her hand on his shoulder in comfort, and a few moment passed before she said, "I was going to visit the Chantry today. Light a candle for Flora. Want to come?"

"I can't." He turned to look at her and the sunlight caught his hair. He was so striking, so different than all the other Vaels. So much like his mother. Aside from Lady Pentaghast, Samantha wondered what that side of the family looked like. "I have a planning meeting for the new Circle. Construction starts in a few days and everyone wants to go over the plans _again_. Raddick keeps trying to make his office bigger."

Samantha couldn't help giggling; the low-stakes arguments that dominated office politics were ridiculous.

"Oh sure." He lifted his brows in amusement. "Go ahead and laugh. My pain is your pleasure." But it was short-lived as his gaze turned back to the unfolded letter. Goran leaned against her a little before he stood up. "I'll see you for dinner."

She watched him go but her heart sank as the warmth went with him. Goran's hands and his eyes and his hair, the rhythm of his voice and the way he lifted his eyebrows when he was amused – he was Corbinian's brother, there was no doubt. But he wasn't Beenie.

Without really thinking about it, Samantha wandered over to the glass doors, pushing them open wide, and stepping onto the terrace. The stone flooring below her bare feet was just like the afternoon sunshine above her head, greeting her in a pleasantly warm embrace. She wished it could burn away the loneliness. Without a plan and without much thought, her feet carried her through the gardens, past the fountain, through the rose bushes and high hedges and past the gates into the training yard.

There were young men there, sparring with practice swords and they came to a halt when Samantha stepped against the fence. Their faces had no scars, their bodies displayed no bruises, and their armor had nary a scratch. They were just boys, playing at being warriors.

"Specialist Keis," one of the men said, sounding surprised, and Samantha looked behind her to see the tall woman leaning against the gate. Of course Keis was there – she was always there.

Keis nodded to the boy, but she said nothing. He exchanged a nervous glance with his sparring partner before they continued. Samantha watched them for a while, wishing that Corbinian would emerge from the smithy's hut, smiling, his tunic sticking to him and his hair standing up as he walked to the fence to greet her... as he had done a thousand times before.

_Well, I don't think a bit of lace and a smile will work for him like it does for me._

Goran had asked the right question: how did things get so messed up? But there was no answer. It had been nearly three years since he had gone, and she had let Goran's willful disbelief that he was dead hang over her.

She looked down at the ring of diamonds of her finger and knew what she should do. Deep down inside, she knew she should let him go. Holding on to this kind of pain could fade even the brightest star, and Corbinian would never want her to wallow in despair. But that was the thing: he wasn't here to prevent it, and regardless of Goran's stubbornness, something inside her also refused to let go.

Samantha lived in a world where her moods could be outlined in tangible things; the bitterness that lay in earth beneath of her feet, the mourning in the setting sun over the gardens, the despondency in the air that brushed by her legs. With Goran, there was happiness and sadness, measured over breakfast and tea, dinner, and reading. With Keis, there was stillness and boredom, measured over the time between. With Flora's letters, there was despair. With Sebastian's letters, there was irritation and sympathy. Everything else was reserved for those moments when she would wait for Corbinian to come out of the smithy's hut.

But Corbinian wasn't going to emerge from the smithy's hut. He wasn't going to hug her at that fence. He wasn't going to kiss her on her windowsill and he wasn't going to make love to her in her bed.

Keis' hands appeared on her shoulders, guiding her away from the practice yard, because the boys had stopped sparring when she had started crying. After she had calmed down, Keis accompanied her to the Chantry where Samantha lit a candle for Flora, for Goran, for Sebastian, for Corbinian, and lastly for Keis – the only one out of all of them that kept her moving, literally.

As Samantha was kneeling in prayer by the candles, she felt a presence to her left. It was a young girl and her voice pitched high.

"Excuse me, messere," the girl said tentatively. "You are Samantha Mayweather, yes?"

Samantha lowered her hands and stood up smoothing over her long skirt. "Yes…?"

"Oh! Andraste's grace! I apologize for my forwardness!" The girl curtsied low, exaggerating her courtesies. "His Highness, Sebastian Vael, told me to seek you out. He said you would be kind to me!"

_His Highness_? Samantha glanced at Keis, who was staring at the girl intently. Was this another messenger? Taletha was still living in relative comfort in Goran's niece's old room, and no more letters had come. It had been half a year since she had heard from him. If this girl was a messenger, she was an odd choice. First of all, she looked to be barely in her bloom. Secondarily, her hands were weathered and her hair was coarse like straw, like a servant's. She was like a rug that needed the dirt shaken out.

"He described you quite well!" The girl's gaze danced over Samantha, who couldn't help wondering how Sebastian was describing her, because Taletha had said the same thing.

"Oh. Well..." Samantha felt a little awkward, because she didn't know how to talk to servants without issuing commands. "How do you do?"

"I am well, messere," the girl gushed. "I was so relieved when he came to me! He is so gentle!"

Sebastian? Gentle? Samantha tried to picture it.

"I thought I was going to wallow in that house forever, but he saved us! All of us!" The girl looked to Andraste's stone figure. "Thank the Maker for that."

"Yes..." Samantha felt terrible, because she knew she was being rude. "How is Sebastian?"

The girl seemed a little confused. "The last I saw him, he was recovering just fine from his injuries."

Samantha paused, glancing at Keis again, who glanced back. "Injuries…?"

"Yes! We all had to take time to recover." The girl sighed melodramatically. "That horrible man… I thought I would never escape him. But when I stepped into the sunlight, I knew that I was going to be fine. I knew the Maker would guide me to where I was most needed."

"Forgive me," Samantha interrupted politely. "I don't believe I have asked your name?"

The girl's eyes went wide, as though she had just been given some great gift. "I am Arielle!"

Samantha curtsied as custom. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Arielle. Perhaps you could tell me how you met Sebastian?"

"Oh!" She giggled ridiculously. "I'm so sorry! I thought he would have written to you… It doesn't matter. He rescued me – well, he and his group rescued the lot of us from Lord Harimann."

Samantha's fake smile faded, for the whole world blurred, leaving this filthy girl in its wake.

"The awful things he was going to do… _that he did_..." Arielle shuddered at the memory. "Thank the Maker for His Highness! I would surely have perished in that madhouse."

"Madhouse…?"

"It was like a spider's web. And we were the flies."

"Flies?" Samantha asked weakly.

"All of us. The other servants. Lady Flora – she got the worst of it!" Arielle's eyebrows stitched together in exaggerated concern. "Poor thing had headaches that drove her mad. The only relief she could get was from the drink. She was a very sick girl."

Samantha stepped closer. "And Ruxton?"

"The one with the beard? He was a sadist! Horrible!" Arielle's little face squished together. "The things he made the other girls do! I feel so fortunate that he never picked me."

_You are a child._

But he had stopped. What if he hadn't? Had Ruxton stopped? What had he done?

Samantha closed her eyes and before she knew it, she felt Keis' hands planted firmly on her arms, guiding her to a pew. Arielle was by her side in an instant with a fan and there were a few sisters crouching nearby when she next opened her eyes.

"I'm so sorry, messere!" She heard Arielle cry.

"Quiet down." Keis snapped at the girl.

"What?" Samantha's eyes fluttered as she thought of Ruxton: the boy who couldn't look at a girl without blushing.

"Lady Samantha has had quite a day. She's going home now." Keis announced, lifting Samantha to her feet. "You okay to walk or do I need to carry you through Granite Circle?"

Samantha's eyes popped open, envisioning some public spectacle where Goran's personal guard carried her back to the palace, likely over her shoulder similar to how a servant would carry a sack of potatoes. What would the nobles say? She found her voice. "I can walk."

"I'm so sorry!" Arielle wailed as the sisters held her back.

Keis guided Samantha out of the chantry while the girl continued to blubber, unaware of the intensity of her cries and when the enormous doors shut behind them, Samantha breathed in the welcoming silence. The neighborhood was busy, and while she stood on the chantry steps trying not be to be dizzy, she caught sight of Arianna Marziano across the square giving her a polite wave. Their friendship had suffered in the year since her name day party, but Arianna was trying, at least. This was the first grudge that Samantha had ever held. It was at that moment that Samantha realized how petty the disagreements of nobility could be, and how much she missed her friend.

"What was that?" Keis asked, referring to Samantha's near-fainting spell, but her voice was devoid of sentiment, as if she were asking a question for the records.

"Nothing," Samantha answered quickly.

"You stumbled." She didn't sound convinced. "You nearly fainted."

"I don't recall fainting," Samantha answered blithely.

"People who faint usually don't."

"Yes, but I have a good memory."

Keis sighed loudly, but didn't speak about it again. Samantha was sure she would tell Goran when they returned to the palace, but they were greeted by a squire in the main lobby who instructed them to head to the Second Sitting Room where His Royal Highness was waiting.

Without hesitation, Keis walked ahead of her and Samantha dutifully followed in her shadow as was her occupation these days. Goran was settled down on a sofa looking out a nearby window. It was a big room, filled with plush chairs and small tables. This room was where letters were written, and cards were played; an empty room that was supposed to be filled with ladies and conversation, instead populated by warm rugs and light curtains with candles in every corner. There was an enormous portrait of one of the Vael women, and Goran thought it was Meghan, but he couldn't keep all the names and portraits straight either.

The prince of Starkhaven didn't stand up as they entered, but when he turned to them, Samantha could see the wetness in his eyes. He was holding a small box, a piece of parchment, and a length of string that dangled loosely from his fingers. At first, Samantha thought it was some kind of memento box but, when she saw the writing, she knew it had come in the post and the parchment was a letter.

"I…" Goran's started to laugh. Or cry. Or both. Samantha couldn't tell.

"What is it?" Samantha sat down next to him.

He sniffled, shaking his head.

"He's in shock." Keis quickly moved to him, removing the brittle paper from his limp fingers.

Samantha touched his shoulder. "Goran? What's wrong?"

"The letter," he said, bringing a hand to his face, clearly trying to calm down.

Keis looked down at the letter, and as if it contained some shock-inducing poison, she too had turned dumb. It was amazing that such a strong woman could look so stricken.

"For the love of Andraste!" Samantha reached out and snatched the parchment from Keis' hands.

But that was a mistake, because the letter described the contents of the box, and Samantha peered over Goran's arm to see what was inside. The familiar golden metal, the curve of the letters, the proud crest shining back out like a beacon. It was the Vael family crest. The initials C.A.V. were delicately etched into the golden metal. Inside the box was the armplate that had once been attached to the arm of Corbinian Alexsander Vael.

And at that, Samantha fainted dead away.


	26. 9:33 Dragon, Autumn

**9:33 Dragon, Autumn**

"I don't care what you say." Samantha shrugged on her long coat; autumn's chill had begun to creep through the Free Marches.

Goran was fidgeting in the hallway of the royal palace, repeating the same phrase that had become his mantra for the last month. "This is a bad idea. A bad idea."

"I should have done this long ago." She carefully fastened the large buttons on her coat.

Keis looked bored, leaning against the archway that led into the front room. "You aren't going to talk her out of it, Your Highness."

Goran took a step forward, and then backward, fumbling with his hands. "What if something happens?"

Samantha pulled on a pair of Orlesian silk gloves, buttoning each tiny silver button at the wrist. "It won't."

"But how do you know?"

"'Cause I'll be holding a sword to his throat." Keis spoke calmly, not even looking at them.

"Oh…" Goran stopped fidgeting. "Well, that might not be wise. I mean, you don't want to make the man nervous."

The warrior shrugged. "At your will."

Keis made everyone nervous sometimes.

Samantha pulled at the front doors but found them easier to open once Keis was helping her, and as Goran followed the pair of women out into the brisk morning—one made of lace and the other made of rock—he snapped his fingers at his squire to have his coat brought to the palace gates.

The letter he had received was from Starkhaven's sister city to the east, Ansburg. Their leader, Margrave Frederick Eberstark, was a military governor and claimed protective responsibility for territory beyond the limits of the city.

_Your Royal Highness, Prince Goran Vael,_

_Inside the box, I believe you will find something of great interest. Please allow me to explain how this particular item came into my possession._

_This piece of armor came to me from the city guard. Apparently, they had saved it from being melted down by a local smithy after having recognized the crest. An investigation revealed that the person who sold it to the smithy was a man who calls himself Archim Falk, an Anders of some ill repute who had stolen it from a merchant caravan headed to Starkhaven. The merchant claims to have paid a fair price for it, and was compensated as he was able to prove that it had been paid for. He bought it from a little girl who sold it to feed herself and her four orphaned brothers who all live in the Green Dales to the north. The area has plagued us for some time, as many children, some Antivan but mostly Fereldan refugees, call the plains their home and roam like wild beasts, attacking caravans in packs like wolves._

_My men were able to track the little girl down, though it took quite a bit of time to do so. She claims she found it in the Minanter – specifically, a place the wild children call The Hub, as they often to meet up with other packs to organize attacks on passing merchant caravans. This is how we found her, and we had to offer a substantial reward to obtain this information from her._

_I offer this information to you freely and in good faith with the hope that our efforts will not be forgotten in the future, should we ever require such friendship._

_May the Maker bless you with healthy children to continue the Vael line,_

_The Margrave of Ansburg, Lord Frederick Eberstark_

When Samantha had woken up from fainting, she had found herself lying in bed in her official room; Goran was slumped in a nearby chair, his head firmly planted in his hands, snoozing peacefully, apparently having fallen asleep as he waited for her to wake up. He'd nearly lost it when she had passed out, she later learned. Already a mess from the confirmation of his belief that his brother might be alive, the shock of seeing Samantha collapse had frayed his last nerve. His personal squire, a boy named Colin, had arranged for a sleeping tonic which he'd refused to take until Samantha woke up. The tonic turned out to be unnecessary.

While she watched Goran sleep, her thoughts were swallowed up with his brother. Possibly alive and alone out there somewhere – just like Goran had always said. The Minanter flowed east towards the Amaranthine Ocean, and so if the little girl from Ansburg had found it in the river, it must have flowed from Starkhaven or somewhere nearby. Samantha hoped it wasn't the swamps. The swamps were filled with creatures that weren't even cataloged, as adventurers who went in rarely came out. Perhaps he was in the Free Marches somewhere, imprisoned by the Flint Company and forgotten in their deaths. Maybe his memory was affected or he was fighting his way out of somewhere brutal and dark… such thoughts were horrible but preferable to imagining him dead.

It had been two years. Her memory stirred with that morning she had awoken in the chantry; fuzzy-headed, with her throat on fire, her bruised legs, that horrendous scratch on her arm, and that incredible thirst.

The mages had healed her, placing their bare hands on her skin in places only Corbinian had touched and, at the time, it felt like a violation. They had offered to take her pain away, to quench that thirst and satiate her hunger, to help her sleep and help her wake, to make the recovery easier, they said, but she had refused all of it. Once she fully regained consciousness, she had screamed at them to stay away, fearful of any magical touch, but on the morning she woke after reading the Margrave's letter, she also recalled how the mages had offered to help her remember.

Her lack of memory of that night hadn't changed. There was no revelatory dream or nightmare, and no inanimate object had stirred a flashback. There was just nothing. Like she had been put to sleep for four days.

With the news that Corbinian may not have died on that night, she felt a surge of courage to learn what happened after she had swung open the large door to her estate to find him standing on the stoop with that… thing. Giggling flirtatiously with those hideous eyes… Samantha could have described them down to the smallest detail if she had wanted, but she kept them to herself – they were _her_ nightmare. They didn't belong to anyone else.

The mages insisted that those memories could be recovered, but she had been too frightened of magic. Now she felt afraid of remembering a version of events that she didn't want to believe.

Ser Traven was now a Knight Captain in the Templar Order, and he had walked calmly beside First Enchanter Raddick as they approached the gates. Raddick was tall with dark skin, likely from Rivain, to judge by his looks. His wiry black hair was kept very short, and tiny reading glasses stood guard on his stern face. His dark eyes appraised Samantha in the same way they had those many months ago when she first requested his assistance. She had hated waiting, but he insisted on time to prepare the spell and make sure the components were in order. Plus, he needed another mage with a special ability and, since mages were scarce in Starkhaven, he'd had to send for one.

The First Enchanter of Kirkwall, Orsino, had responded to Raddick's request and sent a mage, though when she arrived, she was not what was expected. For one, she was an elf; a tiny little thing compared to Raddick. And, for another, she looked no older than thirteen. Samantha's father had never deemed the information necessary, and thus she hadn't read much about elves before, though there were volumes written by the famed scholar Brother Genitivi. This elf's copper hair was kept in a tight bun behind ears that flew backwards off her head like they had been caught in a windstorm. She had a pointy chin with wide-set cheekbones that flared below a pair of crystal-clear blue eyes. All elves were lithe, but Samantha hadn't known many of them and they all looked so similar. Like sticks with eyes.

The trio met Samantha, Goran, and Keis at the palace gates and as they walked to one of the sitting rooms, Goran seemed either bothered by or enamored with the elf – Samantha couldn't tell which.

Once inside, he shook his head at Raddick. "Absolutely not."

Samantha glared. "You can't forbid me, Goran."

"I'm supposed to entrust your safety to an elf?" He scoffed. "_An elf_?"

"You may call me Amethyne." She was trying to sound polite, but the words came through clenched teeth.

"I don't care what your name is!" Goran refused to look at her now.

The elven girl sighed softly, but Raddick almost growled. "Is there a problem, Your Most Worthy Highness?"

The way he enunciated every word in the title turned Goran pink, and the Prince of Starkhaven took a moment to remember that he was prince. "First Enchanter, we know nothing of this—girl."

Raddick raised a brow in irritation but Amethyne muttered something before she took a breath and spoke. "I was born in Highever to a servant. Surely you are familiar with those."

"Amethyne," Traven warned. "You are speaking to the Prince of Starkhaven."

"My apologies, _Your Highness_." She spoke the words as though they tasted foul. "My mother sent me to the Denerim alienage when I was a girl to live with her friends, because she didn't want the Teyrn, whose house she cleaned, to send her daughter to the Circle once they found out that she was a mage." She sounded rather bitter about that.

"You're city-borne then?" Samantha asked carefully, staring at her but trying not to be blatant about it.

"Yes. I grew up in a large estate. Not as nice as this one, though," she said naively, looking across the large circular rug to the velvet tapestries. It was as though she didn't fully comprehend the riches of Starkhaven royalty. She looked back to Samantha and continued. "I lived in Denerim for a while. Not that long, though. When the darkspawn sacked the city during the Blight, there was no one protecting the alienage, and so we fled. And yes, a group of us ended up with the Dalish for a time."

"And you didn't stay with them?" Samantha didn't understand; her family had lost their fair share of elven servants to the Dalish.

"Of course not! I hated it." Her accent was indeed highborn Fereldan. "I mean, I was born in a mansion, sent to an alienage to live in the dirt, and then the Dalish wanted me to _like_ living in the dirt."

The way she spoke that last sentence, Goran and Samantha understood implicitly, but Keis lifted her eyes to the ceiling in annoyance.

Traven finished for her. "The Templars found her living in the Kirkwall alienage."

From the looks on Amethyne's and Raddick's faces, nothing further needed to be explained.

"I thought elves prefer the Dalish…" Samantha didn't know much about elven history, but that much was common knowledge.

"Well, I didn't."

"You prefer the Circle, then?" Samantha asked naively.

The elf rolled her eyes. "Oh, yes, I love it. It's just like my home in Highever, except the guards point their spears at me instead of outsiders."

Traven growled her name in another warning while Goran scowled at Raddick. Neither he nor Samantha had ever encountered an elf who dared speak to them as this girl did.

But Raddick responded in measured tones. "I have tested her myself. She is particularly suited to watch over Lady Samantha while I help her remember."

Goran's hands flew outward. "Suited—?"

"_If_ there is a problem." Raddick's voice was unfathomably deep. "Then I have asked our own Knight Commander Rayce and Kirkwall's Knight Commander Meredith and First Enchanter Orsino to accommodate me for no reason. That's an awfully terrible group of people to irritate in a single day."

Traven shifted his weight uncomfortably and Amethyne shuddered.

Samantha didn't know Meredith, but the Knight Commander of Kirkwall had a reputation for being hard as nails and Kirkwall's Templar Order had a reputation for harsh punishments. The Knight Commander of Starkhaven, Ser Rayce Taraamäe, was an extremely ambitious man, but historically had always tried to treat mages fairly, or so everyone said. Orsino, also an elf, was known throughout the Free Marches as an emotional sort, a loose cannon. No one wanted the ire of any one of them, let alone all three.

Goran paused, considering what to say next, but he was running out of arguments and he still refused to look at the elf. "She's so young, though."

Amethyne never took her eyes from him and, no matter how big and beautiful they were, they were filled with frustration.

"She is what I need." Raddick commanded.

"And what is that?"

"A spirit healer."

Goran had no answer for that. None of them did, because none of them knew just what a _spirit healer_ was.

Raddick set his jaw as he began again. "A spirit healer will ensure that Lady Samantha's mind remains uninjured for the spell's duration. It can be an intense experience, and we wouldn't want her to—" He glanced at Keis, who was giving him the evil eye. "—fall into a coma."

"Maker's breath!" Goran was not persuaded, and in fact, talking about the negative side effects of the experience was the absolute wrong thing to do.

"Your Highness, you misunderstand me." Raddick had impeccable manners. "Lady Samantha will be watched over and protected at every moment. The only way she could be assaulted is if I am assaulted, and that's why Amethyne is needed."

Goran's eyes went wide. "And I'm supposed to entrust Samantha's life to the elf?"

The girl huffed in obvious annoyance and Traven's frown turned into a glare.

Goran turned to Samantha. "Are you sure this is what you want?"

Samantha glanced at the girl. All the healers she had known were friendly, compassionate people. This girl was anything but. But Samantha knew that she needed to do this, despite Goran's reservations.

"The First Enchanter will be here," Samantha said. "She's not going to injure me."

"Of course I won't," Amethyne said bluntly. "I want to stay here in Starkhaven. Besides, if you die, who do you think will get the blame out of everyone in this room? I don't particularly want to be Tranquil."

Her argument was a simple one. While most of them felt uncomfortable with the blatant injustice it implied, they all knew it was absolutely true. But Traven had finally had enough.

"I realize that this is not your city, Amethyne." The Templar towered above her. "But you will adhere to our customs. I've told you this before: in the presence of the Prince of Starkhaven, you do not speak unless spoken to. I will not warn you again."

Her shoulders sunk. "I'm sorry."

"You're sorry, _what_?"

"I'm sorry, _Your Highness._" She resumed trying to be polite.

Goran was squinting at Raddick with his lips pursed as though deep in thought and unaware of all other conversation. He asked the First Enchanter: "What does she mean, _stay in Starkhaven_?"

Raddick opened his mouth to answer, but Traven cut him off. "This is not the time—"

"And when is the time?" Raddick's unfathomably deep voice made every word sound important.

"May I speak now?" Amethyne was glowering at everyone who all turned to Goran for approval. A moment passed before he realized that he had to give it, and he fumbled awkwardly with his hands in her direction.

The elf seemed emboldened by his permission, and Samantha wondered about how rare these kinds of mages were, these spirit healers, because this elf was acting from a position of power.

"I wish to remain here," she explained. "I wish to be transferred from Kirkwall to Starkhaven. Orsino will approve it, but I need the Circle's approval here as well. Would be better if the prince approved me personally."

"I didn't realize there were conditions attached to this." Goran still wouldn't look at her.

Amethyne ignored that he wasn't speaking to her, and the way her eyes bore into him, even though he continued to avoid her gaze was interesting to say the least. "You need something from me. I need something from you."

"My apologies, Your Highness," Traven said, sounding sincere. "I was going to bring a formal request to your attention once the ritual was complete."

Goran nodded at Traven in forgiveness, but Samantha was still curious about the elf's reasons. "Why do you want to leave Kirkwall?"

Amethyne turned to her, those eyes twinkling like big sapphires. "Mages like me don't last long in a city like Kirkwall. Most of my friends have been made Tranquil already."

"They become maleficar?" Samantha asked innocently, feeling alarmed.

"No," she answered with a glare. "The Knight Commander of Kirkwall is…" She glanced at Traven, who was watching her closely. "…not like the Knight Commander here. Or so everyone says. Either way, I'll take my chances."

The elf was brazen in her request to leave that city, and Samantha wondered if the reputation of Kirkwall's Templar Order was understated.

Goran was still deep in thought, asking questions that seemed random to everyone else, but likely were perfectly linear in his mind. "You said you could be assaulted. Does this mean you're going to enter the Fade? Is Samantha going to be in the Fade?"

The First Enchanter hesitated briefly. "Not exactly. I need the energy from the Fade to tap into her subconscious, to enable her to remember. It's like a doorway and it will be open. Lady Samantha will be exposed, as will I, but we will be protected."

"By the elf," Goran finished, and Amethyne looked like she wanted to strangle him at his constant refusal to say her name.

Keis grumbled something about regret before she spoke up. "Then I'm going with her. Her life is mine, and where she goes, I go."

"It's not like that, Your Highness." Raddick kept calm, though his façade was slowly crumbling.

"Keis is going." Goran demanded, and Samantha knew that this was as good as she was going to get.

The First Enchanter only sighed and Amethyne shuffled noisily, still staring at Goran. It was obvious that she wanted some kind of answer to her request.

Goran set his gaze upon Samantha and she could see the real fear there: that he would lose her, his only friend. For if she was gone, then he would be left alone and no soul in the realm would know him, would know his heart, would know that he loved painting and eggs, disliked oranges and the famous Starkhaven Fish Pie, loved to be read to but disliked reading for himself, enjoyed silence over idle chit-chat, and painted his mother more often than anyone else. Goran needed people, perhaps more than most, and he had lost nearly all of his already.

Goran finally turned to Raddick. "If Samantha makes it through this unscathed, I'll consider the elf's request."

Amethyne grinned in triumph.

"We will need more candles," Raddick murmured to her. "This is going to take a while."

It took an hour for the area to be set up properly, about as long as it took for the arrival of the guards that Goran insisted stand vigil outside the door, and he even called a few Templars in case "the Veil was ripped open or something." Everyone thought him paranoid and ignorant about magic, but they all understood that the Prince of Starkhaven was going to take his precautions whether they argued with him about it or not.

The First Enchanter and Amethyne sat on either side of Samantha and Keis who were seated together on a high-backed lounge. Raddick closed his eyes and began to murmur, the words unintelligible even if they were in the native tongue of the Free Marches. There was a glow about him, burning out from his skin and through his clothes, something hazy and yellowish, like the aura just before a sunrise. Goran started to fidget again.

Amethyne took one of Samantha's hands, and a tingling sensation stretched up her arm like thorny vines settling onto her skin. After a moment, it began to burn, and she looked down to see the long scratch – it was there!

"How—?" She looked up to Amethyne but the elf seemed confused, glancing at Raddick who never broke concentration.

A sickness rose up through her, not unlike the way she felt when she first saw her brother in that dark dungeon cell. It squirmed in her belly like a sack of worms, and she was certain she would be ill. Her legs began to ache with a pain that grew out from somewhere deep in her skin. She felt spongy, pliable, and when one tear slid down her cheek, she heard Goran say something somewhere off in the distance but she closed her eyes anyway _and when I open them up I am crashing down the stairs, my body slamming into the wall at the turn and I throw myself at the front doors, pulling the handle but it won't move and I pull again but it won't move and I am fumbling with the latch until it finally clicks and as I throw the door open, the pungent fog greeting me, burning my eyes and—_

_I freeze. My hands are still clutching the door. It's my Beenie._


	27. 9:31 Dragon, Spring (2)

**9:31 Dragon, Spring**

_That is my not ceiling._

_I sit up, and there is a very strange sensation when I do because my body doesn't feel attached to me. I feel... I would describe it as numbness but it's not that, it's just that somehow everything is muted. Being aware that you are dreaming is weird enough, but being aware that you are dreaming inside someone else's head is beyond description._

_Maker. The things I do for… His Highness. It's hard for me to look at him and see him as prince sometimes, because he's not very princely. Well, whatever._

_I am sitting on a stone floor in a small stone room. There is no bench, no chair, and no window. Water drips from somewhere. Before I can venture a guess about where I am, an unnaturally loud thunderclap shakes the floor. I hop up quickly, and am pleased to discover that I am wearing my armor, my sword is sheathed on my hip, and my shield is slung from my back. This is what I was wearing before I entered this dream. I spin in a circle before I see the dark wooden door. If not for the strange shadows of this room, it would have been obvious. I reach for the latch only to discover that there isn't one. The door is a solid plank of wood and when I push against it, it doesn't move. I push again, but it doesn't give._

_What vile trick is this? Calm down, Keis. It's just a door, and it can be broken._

_I brace myself against the walls of this room, for if I stretch my arms wide, I can touch the opposite walls, and I give the door a solid kick. It rattles, but stays shut. This is starting to irritate me. I bring my shield from my back, and brace my body behind it, ramming my shield-covered shoulder into the door, popping it off the stone as the latch on the other side has been loosened from its hinge. Another kick flings the door open, and a rusted iron lock bounces off the opposite wall._

_I emerge into another small chamber with at least a dozen wooden doors lining the grey stone walls. There's a staircase at the far end, and I rush to it, climbing the steps two at a time, running my hand along the curved wall because of the pitch._

_At the top of the staircase, I am surprised by a pair of shades. They hiss in the way nightmares do, breathing out smoke and fury. Their bodies are like open furnaces, and the fuming heat instantly makes me start sweating. One of them lashes out at me, its long limb grazing my shield, and I move back, flush against the wall, wresting my sword from its sheath. The other one lunges for me, and I slink sidelong against the stone while swinging my sword upwards and into it. I don't meet much resistance as I slice through its smoldering interior, and it whooshes backwards against the wall, dissipating into nothing. Barely a moment passes before, from the corner of my eye, I see the second one moving. I swivel my hip and we dance for a moment, moving around each other like a game of hunter and prey until it moves to strike again, and I pivot on my toes, driving my sword into its side when it slides in front of me. It shrieks before folding over on itself, the blackness clearing out of the corridor in seconds. For all their power, it's amazing that these creatures are mostly smoke._

_Already exhausted, my breath comes in heaves, and I want to take off my armor to cool down, but I have to keep moving. I have to find Lady Samantha._

_I feel like I'm in a maze. I turn this way and that, up another set of narrow stairs, down a long darkened hallway, moving upwards all the while. The further I travel, the more lamps and light I see, which must be a good sign. Finally, I crash through a set of grand double doors and enter a room that causes my stomach to clench with dread._

_The plush rug. The bookcases. The walls that stretch up into darkness so thick that one has to travel three floors to see the painted ceiling. I am standing in the main library of the Circle Tower of Starkhaven. It's currently on fire, and at any moment, it's all going to come crashing down._

_Another loud boom shakes the area, and I stumble to my knees, unable to keep my balance. The burning books shuffle in their case, many fly forward from the shelves, sailing through the air and leaving trails of ash behind them. The candles rattle in their fixtures, the streaks of old tallow on the sconces cracking and I cover my head when some plunk down to the plush rug around me. Smoke is gathering near the ceiling, and if I don't get out of here soon, this thing is going to collapse on my head._

_I don't know whether it's luck or chance that a group of mages burst through one of the adjacent corridors. The noise surprises me because it's so sudden, and a man in a robe nearly runs me over in his escape. He is followed by two women, and one of them is holding a little boy. I call out to them, but they don't answer. Am I not really here? Seconds later, another group clamors through the library; two Templars and one guard, and I recognize all three of them. Sers Langley and Traven, and me._

_It's funny to see yourself when you don't realize you're being watched. There is a momentary lapse in my judgment as I give in to vain fascination, watching myself run and jump from the room._

_It only takes a second to regain my senses, and I scramble to my feet, chasing after both groups through the darkened hallways of the Tower. The mages blast the Western Doors off their hinges in their escape, leaving a smoking hulk of splintered wood that Ser Langley drives through with determination, parting the red-hot embers with his black-bladed sword. The rest of the group is right behind him. I leap over what's left and stumble into the street._

_The scene outside greets me with nightmarish familiarity. I halt in my tracks as the smoke-filled air chokes me nearly to tears, and I cough reactively. My pause is short, because my foreknowledge of what is coming pulls my gaze to the west. The mages have taken a turn, heading towards the Western Gates where Clive and Bryn, two Starkhaven guards, cut them off, effectively surrounding them._

_The mages have to stop running now, but in that moment when they decide to fight back, their fates are sealed, and I hate them to this day for it. There is yelling, and this is where the Templars are trying to convince the mages to give themselves up, but they won't. Certain that the Templars will fry them for trying to escape, the adult mages start throwing fireballs and juts of ice. The little boy stumbles back... I feel sick to my stomach. I don't want to stay here for this._

_It takes considerable strength to turn away, blinking back the burning in my eyes and that's when I hear it. Laughter. It's so faint, barely there, but I hear it. It's coming from someplace far away, and I can almost pinpoint the direction, but the streets are in chaos. Men and women are running through the wafting haze, and I can hear cries and screams for help in the distance. Small children, orphans most likely, huddle in darkened alleyways, playing wide-eyed possum. Templars rush past me, bustling to get inside the Circle Tower and I want to scream at them to stop, to run the other direction, but it's futile. All of this has already happened._

_Separating myself from this place is difficult. At every turn, I see something that pulls me, that makes me want to anchor myself here, to help those around me, but I am harshly reminded that this is not real. I am not here. This is only a memory, even if it is one that burns._

_I wonder how Samantha knew all of this was going on, since she was in her home for most of this night, but perhaps the magic that brought us here has something to do with it. Briefly, I wonder if this is my dream, too. Magic; it has never made any sense to me. I know only what they teach in the Chantry, because my parents were farmers and books were not part of my daily routine. This whole dream-land is definitely beyond my experience, but I do know that demons cannot create. The Chant of Light says so. They can only tap into what is in the dreamer's mind. And from now on, this is my dream, too. And I need to find the other dreamer. I need to get to the Mayweather Estate._

_I manage to take three steps before the roar assaults me. Every muscle in my body freezes. I know that sound, because I was there when the demon made its appearance._

_My eyes are open but what's in front of me is stained red. I try not to think about those mages who transformed into monsters. I try not to think of how the ridges that lined their backs cut into my hands as I feebly tried to pull the beasts off of Clive, whom they ripped open at his throat. I try not to think of how Bryn screamed when one of their pincers lanced her in the gut. But mostly, I try not to think about that little mage boy who couldn't have been older than ten. He never tried to fight us. He was trying to flee the violence, but Ser Langley ran him through anyway. Hugh, my brother and fellow guardsman, never saw that. If he had, he might never have joined the Templars. He might never have moved away to Kirkwall. I never got a chance to tell him about that little boy. About how he died. Warriors aren't supposed to cry. I turn away from the gates._

_With a deep breath, and this time there is no coughing, I sprint through the smoke that blankets the streets like a winter's fog; visibility is half a block at best and I reach the Mayweather Estate by memory alone instead of by landmarks. It's not hard to find if you know the granite path._

_I arrive at the estate in time to see Corbinian standing on the doorstep. His sword hangs loosely from his fingertips and the tip of it is oddly split in two. When the door swings open, I see her. Lady Samantha. Her hands grip the doors, her face is streaked with tears, her eyes are wide and frightened and her hair is a tangled mess. She wears nothing but a short nightdress and her locket. Her bare feet are small and she looks younger than usual. _

_But there is another in this little scene, and it is most definitely a demon. Its swaying body is many shades of purple, its fingers are long with four-inch claws, but aside from its—her?—blatant nudity and that long tail, it's the horns that make the creature intimidating. They stretch backwards off her head like bigger Qunari horns, curving around to fine points and are engulfed in purple flames that don't reach any great height. She is giggling – the laughter in the wind – and in an instant, Lady Samantha's jaw goes slack._

_A boy appears behind Lady Samantha, his face crumpled and his voice anguished when he wails, What did you make me do?_

_The demons speaks. Her voice is soft like velvet yet flat as stone, and it reverberates a little, almost like it's amplified by something inside her. She says, What you most desired. _

_Let her go! he cries._

_The demon turns her horrible eyes, metallic and swirling, to Corbinian as she says, I can give her everything she desires and more. Their desire is so strong… so pure… they will be so happy._

_Samantha starts to make these noises, like the kind my mother made whenever she ate chocolate cake, and Corbinian moans a little, too. It's startling to see their expressions change so completely. Moments ago, Corbinian was staring forward like a suit of arms and Samantha still has tears dripping down her cheeks. But now they both moan in pleasure._

_The boy grips his staff, it's a strange stick with two globes of glass on either end, one black and one white, and he says, I won't let you! The deal was just for my parents – not her!_

_She turns those horrible eyes to the boy that I now recognize as Innley, but only because of the drawings of him from the Knight Commander's Most Wanted List._

_She says with her terrible voice, There are so many who have wronged you, forgotten about you as you withered away in that dungeon. Has this girl not been one of them? Did she not go on with her own selfish existence while you were chained to a wall in that prison cell?_

_Innley's face twists with many so things; a combination of confusion, rage, and doubt._

_The demon runs a hand over her breast, purring, Your freedom is waiting for you. Just beyond those gates. Your beloved sister will feel only happiness for the rest of her life._

_Innley seems dubious but he's eyeing the gates. He looks worried about getting captured, but I know better. I know that right now in the streets of Starkhaven, the blackness and smoke cover everything so absolutely leaving nothing but confusion._

_And right on schedule, the tower collapses. All of them, me included, stumble to the ground. Instinctively, I scramble around to see the top of the tower in all its fiery inferno, the smoke trailing upwards as the Tower silently sails downward behind faraway buildings until moments later when a loud boom shakes the ground and the walls and the trees and rattles everyone down to the marrow in our bones._

_I remember this moment. When this happened, I was holding that small boy's body just outside the Western Gates. I think about him a lot. His little hands and feet, his big, brown eyes. _Help me,_ he said as the blood seeped out from his belly and into his clothes and then onto me and all over my hands and my armor and in my hair and on my cheek because I lifted my finger up to brush away stupid tears. Warriors aren't supposed to cry. I turn away from the tower._

_Fine, Innley says, but there is a growl underneath those words. His eyes burn a strange green for only a moment, and I know then that he is an abomination. Maleficar._

_Let us go then, the demon sings. She nearly floats behind Corbinian and Samantha who move like… people who are possessed, I guess. They move without personality, stiff like wooden boats on a river._

_We exit through the Eastern Gates and the cobblestones on this side are jagged. At one time, there were plans to relay these stones, to make them smoother. After the Vaels died, those plans got delayed. My father once said to me that some things take precedence over laying stone into the earth. He was talking about building me my own room. That was the day we burned my mother on a pyre. I was eleven._

_Why are these thoughts coming to me? I am following Corbinian, Samantha, Innley, and this truly heinous demon and I am thinking of my father. I shake my head, trying to clear away the rubble but there's so much, and it's piled so high that I just want to stop. I just want to stop._

_Eventually, we do stop underneath an enormous sycamore tree. Innley leans against the trunk and stares at Samantha and I can only imagine that she thinks that she and Corbinian are having some pretty hot sex back in her bedroom. Maybe that is a kindness. Maybe I am outside her subconscious and that's why I see this instead of that._

_Innley looks to Corbinian and with considerable effort, he pushes himself off the trunk of the tree and removes the sword from Corbinian's hand. I watch him as he stares at it. He looks at the bent-back tip and the demon giggles. She lifts up her palm where there is a gash oozing some black paste, and she extends her tongue, long and silver like her eyes and she licks her palm like an ice cream cone, savoring it. I am wondering if that is her blood as she says, He is such a fighter, so full of passion and strength._

_Did she split the tip of his sword with the palm of her hand?_

_Keep her happy, Innley mumbles and he sounds resigned, like he cannot fight this demon. Then he turns and walks away._

_I watch him go and the hate fills me up, surging through my veins, and I swear to the Maker himself that I hope I never come across that boy. I will surely commit the gravest sin a woman can commit if I do._

_Sitting against the tree, Samantha's head is propped on Corbinian's shoulder and his arm is around her protectively. I wonder if the demon made them do that or something else inside them just did it. The demon is swaying gently nearby, her eyes closed as if she is deep in meditation. Every once in a while, she murmurs something, a giggle or a moan just as they make similar sounds, as if they are sharing in the experience and I think about how perverse this is._

_I turn my head to look at Starkhaven in the distance. Maker in the heavens… we are so close. So close and no one found them out there. Four days will go by and we never looked out here? My mind wants to blame someone, but it's no one's fault but Innley's that they are out here, vulnerable and alone, the feast of a demon in heat. We are supposed to protect the citizens. The nobles, the peasants, the elves, the mages. All of them. I think of that boy again. Warriors aren't supposed to cry._

_Luckily, some group of jerks interrupts this little scene. There are four of them, and they look surly. The kind of men that take whatever fancies them and enjoy the taking as much as the possessing and they are eyeing Samantha hungrily._

_Oh, Andraste's favor. Please, no._

_The demon opens her eyes with a start, her body's sway ceasing immediately and she is between the pair of lovers and the men faster than I have seen anyone ever move. The group of men seem disturbed at first, but the way they look at Samantha, I can't even stand it. I almost wish I were really here and that I could kill them. I would. With my bare hands._

_The tallest of the four speaks, Looks like we got a souvenir, boys._

_The demon giggles, speaking in her terrible rhythm, Such a strong man. Such intent. But you are only an ant in servant to a queen. Wouldn't you prefer to be king?_

_What? he asks, confused._

_You could be a leader, she purrs. The men would follow you and all the spoils would be yours._

_The man is mesmerized by her voice, but one of the others seems irritated and says to the tall one, What's wrong with you?_

_The tall one shakes his head fervently and says, Hand over the girl and this can end all peaceful-like._

_This isn't your affair, the demon says, darker this time._

_All four of them draw their swords; apparently, they are so single-minded in their quest, as short-term as it is, that her charms don't work._

_I feel panicked, because I can do nothing. Nothing at all. The demon looks at them intently, but even I know that she may not survive their onslaught, not with Corbinian and Samantha taking up so much of her energy. She is feeding on them, it's true, but it must take considerable strength to keep them under her influence and she can't possibly control six people. But she surprises me – she does me one better, because she turns to Corbinian and shrieks like a little girl._

_Papa! Papa! There are men here! They want to harm mother! They want to harm us!_

_NO! Corbinian shouts, and I can see his skin turn red with rage but his eyes are strangely devoid of anything. Like white marbles that someone painted with little blue circles._

_He leaps to his feet, and I feel some relief that he is at least wearing his armor. The Vael armor is the best there is – I know, because His Highness, Prince Goran, commissioned me a set. The golden plate pieces are as strong as ten men and they cover Corbinian's chest, legs, shoulders, and arms in several pieces, all held together with a fine chain mesh that is enchanted to be as strong as plate. He wears it like a glove and when the tall one thrusts his sword out in front of him, Corbinian hops to the side, grabbing the man's wrist so fast that I can't believe it. He yanks the sword from the man's hand and in a single motion, flips it around, and runs it through the man's stomach at an upward angle. The man gasps repeatedly, blood shooting out from his mouth – Corbinian has sliced open his lungs. As the man is falling to the earth, Corbinian pulls the shield from the mercenary's fingers and turns to the other three._

_They seem hesitant at first, but the fact that there are three of them gives them some kind of confidence and I find myself wincing when two of them lunge at Corbinian, who pushes both of their swords away in a single motion with the shield. The third man is the smartest of the bunch because he goes for the demon who is still screaming like a child._

_Samantha remains slumped against the tree, her eyes now open but vacant, and I pray to the Maker that she can't really see this._

_I stumble backwards, trying to get a better view as Corbinian deflects a sword with his sword, blocks the other weapon with his shield, swivels his hips and turns his shoulder into each movement, so graceful and practiced. He is obviously more skilled than ten of these idiots put together. The pair of attackers manage to maneuver around Corbinian so that they are on opposite sides of him, and this isn't the best position, but they don't know him. I've seen him fight. It's like he's dancing._

_Corbinian thrusts his shield out, and the first man's head flies backwards and I can see little white bits flying away, remnants of his teeth; Corbinian turns his shoulders and brings his sword upwards which vertically slashes open the belly of the second man, knocking him back in a bloody, disgusting mess; Corbinian turns his head but keeps his body sideways as he kicks out, his boot hammering into the stomach of the man with the broken teeth who stumbles backwards to the ground. There are horrible sounds then, gurgling and spitting, a wailing cry that dies away as the second man falls over to his side, ceremoniously dead._

_Corbinian then turns to the man with the broken teeth who is still on the ground and holding his stomach._

_But something happens because the demon cries out. I've been watching Corbinian masterfully cut down two men but the third is on the demon and he must have got her with his sword, because her chest is oozing a viscous, black liquid. He has cut open her breast. Corbinian shakes his head, removes his helmet, and looks around dazedly._

_My mouth drops open, because I recognize that the demon, in her injury, has lost her grip on Corbinian._

_He mumbles, staring at his surroundings, clearly confused while looking at the sword and shield in his hands, recognizing that they are not his own, seeing the dead men on the ground. In the confusion, the man with the missing teeth scrambles through the tall grass to Samantha, wrapping a thick arm around her body, his hand clamping down on her upper arm. He is holding his a newly drawn dagger to her belly. She is a rag doll in his hands._

_My breathing is ragged even though I know that she lives through this. I know it, but that doesn't mean I don't still burn for her safety. I have kept her alive for two years now, and it shocks me to see firsthand how close she actually came to death._

_The third man is pointing his sword at the demon as he says, Now call off your dog._

_My gaze darts over to Corbinian who regrips his sword and finally speaks: I am Marquess Corbinian Vael, nephew to the Prince of Starkhaven. Lower your swords or I will kill you both where you stand._

_Oooooh, the one holding the sword to the demon says, You're a Vael, are you? Then, you get to die before we take this little pretty with us!_

_The other one, the one who holds Samantha, snickers. These must be some of Flint's men, finished with their contractual deed back in Starkhaven. Corbinian doesn't know his family is gone…_

_The demon hisses, and it was wrong for the mercenary to hold her without killing her because the Chantry teaches us that demons don't feel pain like the rest of us. She lunges for him, her four-inch claws sinking deep into his chest but he stabs back at her, sinking his sword into her side. It doesn't go very far. Viciously, she drives her claws downwards, crunching through bone and muscle, a wicked sneer across her lips as she does it, enjoying every last moment of this man's life which she clearly devours as he gasps his final breath. She is injured, but quickly recovering._

_Corbinian holds rigid, licking his lips as his gaze shifts from the demon to the man who is still holding on to Samantha. The last of Flint's men seems startled, scared even._

_The demon gives Corbinian a sickening smile as she says, You love her. It pours from every inch of you. You desire nothing more than her safety._

_I will kill you, Corbinian swears._

_Not today, she stretches out the words like a promise._

_Let her go._

_No._

_The mercenary shifts, clearing his throat and says with a new lisp because half of his teeth are chipped or missing, Eh, excuse me. If you two haven't noticed, I have the girl._

_Corbinian grinds his teeth, staring at the demon with a fury that I've never seen, and at first I don't understand. Why is he waiting? But then I remember my lessons from the Chantry: the demon has Samantha under her influence, and so she can take Samantha's life with merely a thought. But she also needs Samantha to live outside the Fade. Corbinian is educated, raised in a palace with books and tutors and he understands volumes of things that I don't even know exist. But we all learn about demons. The Chantry sees to that._

_He has a choice to make, and it's now obvious to me what choice that is. If he goes for the demon, the man will either take Samantha and run or slice open her belly and she will wake up, completely aware of herself before she bleeds out in all its agonizing glory. Just like that little boy. If he goes for the man, the demon will kill Samantha with a thought. Maybe she can then take Corbinian back under her influence just as she did before, maybe he can fight her off, but Samantha will be gone either way._

_She lives, Corbinian grinds out._

_The demon is breathing heavily, holding onto her breast when she says, You'll take her place?_

_It takes all he can muster to force the word through his teeth: Yes._

_The demon giggles girlishly, and Corbinian no longer needs the demon to propel him into motion. He moves quickly without reservation or remorse, flying towards the man who has Samantha wrapped up in his dirty vice-like grip, and he sinks a dead man's sword deep into the toothless man's shoulder. The man's arm flies out wildly and the side of his dagger cuts into Samantha's arm, leaving a long gash. Blood leaks out from her wound in tiny trails of red as she slumps to the ground, still unconscious._

_But before Corbinian can finish him off, the man scrambles to his feet and takes off, running like mad into the enormous field. Samantha is still out cold and her wound looks superficial, but I notice that her necklace is gone – that little weasel ripped it from her neck as though he knew he was going to make a run for it. I guess I shouldn't be surprised. A murderer _and_ a thief._

_The demon's hands smooth over the skin of Samantha's shoulders as she lifts her up to her feet and says, A bargain is a bargain._

_But I know that Samantha is not safe yet._

_Corbinian looks over his shoulder to Starkhaven, which is smoldering in the distance, and he's breathing hard, his hands gripping that sword and shield so tightly that I can see his knuckles turning white. I can also see his pain; it twists his face and hardens his whole body as he shakes with it. It is agonizing to watch._

_She'll be safe here? he asks, still concerned of course; that mercenary could come back when they're gone._

_She will be, the demon promises. No one will see her. She will wake up when it's safe._

_Will she… remember?_

_His voice is so heartbreaking. Warriors aren't supposed to cry._

_Nothing, the demon promises._

_These are the choices that love forces us to make._

_With a last lingering look to Samantha, he says, Do it._

_There is a blinding flash and an explosive wind, both so bright and strong that I am knocked to the ground, shielding my eyes as the world around me turns white and noisy. When I open them next, I see the demon sauntering away, Corbinian at her side, his gait calm and stiff. Samantha, I can't see. She is gone. I scramble around but I can't find her until I literally trip over her, but she is not there. She must be invisible, I think. I reach down, and sure enough, I feel her arm, soft and pliable like a lady's should be._

_I look back up to see the two figures turning black in the distance as they disappear on the northern horizon._

_And just like that, Corbinian Vael has broken the Oath of Starkhaven._


	28. 9:33 Dragon, Late Autumn

**9:33 Dragon, Late Autumn**

"When he first assumed the title, His Highness, Prince Thayvian Vael, came to me to ask about integrity. He asked me about how best to honor his oath as prince." Grand Cleric Francesca pulled out a thick book. "I read to him a passage from Divine Renata's sermons. I will read it to you now."

As the sounds of thick raindrops pelted the chantry's roof, Francesca cracked open the old tome and brought a pair of tiny spectacles up to just above her nose. The musky scent of wet wood saturated everything, even the walls of the building. Winter would arrive soon, and with that, Samantha thought, a long string of cold, dark nights where Beenie would be alone. If he lived.

"_The weakness of mortal will is the great failing of all the Maker's children. We trade our honor as if it is the cheapest of currency. We do not understand what integrity is or what it is truly worth. From this ignorance, original sin was born_."

The images that came to Samantha in the dreamland were confusing: an endless night in bed with Corbinian, and while the dream had stirred feelings of complete and absolute bliss, something on the edge of the dreamscape felt false. It was as if she had been looking through a mirror mounted on the inside of her eyelids, watching her life happen around her. And then suddenly, as if that endless night had abruptly ended, the image shifted to Corbinian thrusting his sword through the stomach of a stranger. There was giddy childish laughter. There was darkness. Everything else was too fuzzy to recall.

"_At some time, each of us has thought, _What does it matter if I keep hold of my integrity? I am but one mortal. I am powerless_. How blind we all are! The virtue of a single slave destroyed the Tevinter Imperium. The dishonor of one man drove the Maker from our sight. I tell you truly, nothing but the integrity of our hearts will win the love of the Maker back to us. It is all the power we shall ever possess to change this world for good or ill_."

And according to Keis, it was all a lie. A trick by a demon who shared in their pleasure, a thought that scratched at Samantha's skin with disgust. Anyone else and she might not have believed them straight away, but it was Keis. Keis who never lied, who never had to, who recounted her own experience to Samantha in private with a healer's tact; truths without adjectives.

Samantha had wanted so badly to remember, but came out of the experience with only fragments. Keis said that Corbinian had walked away _with_ the demon. As confusing as that was, at least he was alive, Samantha thought. Or he had been. The question of whether he still lived haunted her, turning her heart into his ghost, bleeding his name with every beat.

Francesca closed the book, removing her tiny spectacles and placing them neatly on the podium. "Her grace, the Divine Renata, warned us that letting go of our integrity spoils Andraste's well, for she drinks from our hearts. We cannot fill our hearts with hatred, with selfishness, and with sin."

There were no exceptions to breaking the Oath of Starkhaven in the history of the city. Thousands of women and men had taken the Oath back during Andraste's Exalted Marches and the Second and Fourth Blights. Corbinian had been the first Havener to speak the words in more than two hundred years, and the first royal in five hundred years. Then, Starkhaven's own Nyrian Vael, the third cousin to the Prince of Starkhaven, and fourteenth in line of succession, took the Oath and vowed to defend Starkhaven should the Imperium prevail.

Of course, they didn't, and he died an old man.

"It was not so long ago that darkness blanketed _our_ streets." The Grand Cleric referred to the night the Circle Tower was destroyed. "We all know how dark it can get before His light shines through. I told Prince Thayvian that we must never give into despair because when one is swallowed by shadows, out of that darkness, hope can light the way." She then gazed down at Goran.

Samantha knew, after learning the truth, that there was hope, but she couldn't look for it. Out in that field where she had woken up, she had been so certain Corbinian was alive and utterly heartbroken when they told her he was gone. Could she imagine he was alive again or would that only lead to bitter disappointment? So, instead, she kept her gaze fixed on the Grand Cleric, her ears tuned to the hard rain falling on the roof, and she imagined that it was going to wash away all that summer warmth, saturating everything with its relentless cold. And all through the coming winter, Samantha knew that it would be her heart that shook.

"Hope gives us the courage to move forward, to change our circumstances for the better, but changing the world isn't simply a matter of integrity." Francesca was still staring at Goran, almost like she was speaking to him alone. "It's about heart as well. These are gifts from the Maker, proof that we are worthy of His return. We strive to better ourselves and the world, to make it as we see fit, but it's not our world to make. It's His. Prince Thayvian worried about his oath to Starkhaven, but in honoring his oath to the Maker – that oath to which we are all bound – he honored every other oath he made."

Heart. Integrity. Words which, absent of action, had no meaning.

If Corbinian had let Samantha die to honor his Oath to Starkhaven, he would have violated his own integrity. His own heart. Samantha felt that no oath should demand that.

Goran stared up at the Grand Cleric, his face a bit too open in his expression as he drank in every word she said. He hadn't said anything to Samantha, but she knew that Goran had received counsel from Francesca about Corbinian. About how he should proceed as a brother, as a Vael, and as prince. She had counseled him as she had counseled in his uncle, Prince Thayvian.

Francesca laced her fingers together on the podium. "I've always thought that the Maker placed the Vaels here as Starkhaven's guardians. But they are also Starkhaven's children. We loved them as they loved us. We remember them, and honor their loss."

_Vaels don't die. Our shadow hangs over everything. Even when we're not here._

The dream proved that Corbinian had survived the night of the Circle Tower's destruction. The armor plate from Ansburg could have come loose any time after that. But none of that proved that Corbinian was alive still. Probably originating in Ansburg, the rumors of his survival traveled the length of the Minanter, and Samantha had been worried about the reaction of Starkhaven's nobles. But, perhaps unsurprisingly, Haveners laughed them away, as if the rumors were supernatural tales circulated amongst peasants. Urban legends the effete could not afford to entertain lest their sophisticated reputations suffer.

Goran had given no response, either. But he was Prince, and princes didn't respond to rumors.

He had taken action, however. The citizens of Starkhaven didn't ask him directly, but Samantha heard the rumblings during the season's parties. The polite yet slightly accusatory comments about the strange new titles within the Royal Guard. About the organized and well-stocked teams that spent hours outside the city gates on _training exercises_. And about the distant places those well-trained teams were sent. To the Green Dales which were ruled by roving packs of wild children. To the haunted swamps ruled by witches and unnatural darkness. To the western desert wasteland peppered with dragon lizards, the only creatures capable of surviving in the dry heat.

Months went by with no word from these envoys, and as time that passed, the growing fear that they would never return bristled the citizenry. The teams were assembled from the City and Royal Guard, men and women who were children of commoners and peasants, who accused the prince of exploiting Starkhaven's resources to chase after his family's ghosts. They called his envoys Ghost Chasers. Even those nobles who had been too important to be bothered with the lower classes were suddenly riled by their unfortunate disappearance. Samantha assumed their disapproval was merely a popular topic of conversation, and not because they actually cared.

"We miss them," Francesca said earnestly. "We pray for the Maker to keep them at His side, and ask Andraste to watch over the ones we have left."

On these final words, Francesca bowed her head and the choir began to sing. Arielle was in the choir now, and someone had worked some kind of miracle cleaning her up. She looked almost normal.

Samantha glanced at Goran, who had his eyes closed, his lips moving to the words of the song.

Would Goran fail to live up to the seat's expectations, and what it would mean if the people rejected him outright; who would claim his seat? Sebastian? Samantha had thought about him often in the last few months, wondering how he would react to the news that Corbinian might be alive. Wondering if he would still return, whether or not he should, and hoping that they would never need to speak of it. Was his arrogance better than Goran's optimism? Samantha didn't know, but then again, she knew how pretentious everyone was. If Lord Garrity thought having a bastard King of Ferelden was bad, he certainly wouldn't accept an exiled prince. Surely, he wasn't the only one.

Samantha closed her eyes, but it wasn't the song that moved her. It was the golden armor plate that gleamed with tangible hope. She could feel its presence even though the finely crafted plate was back at the palace. She imagined it attached to his arm, his smile reflected in the metal, and thought surely, surely, he _must_ still be out there.

She decided that as soon as she was back at the palace, she would rush to Goran's private study, lift the box of glass from the display, and cradle the warm metal in her hands. Warm from magic, but she would pretend that it was warm from Corbinian. Warmth transferred. Preserved.

She had written to Flora twice since it had arrived, but she couldn't tell Flora that she spent most of her time in Goran's study just to be near it. As though it were still attached to Corbinian's arm. As though any moment that she wasn't near it, Corbinian was alone. She couldn't tell Flora about the Margrave's letter or about her and Keis' dream. She couldn't say anything, because Goran had asked her not to. He wanted her to wait until he had proof.

So, instead of writing about all that consumed her thoughts, Samantha wrote about Goran. She recounted everything that he had done to protect her and Sebastian. How he had worked with the Chantry and the Templars to rebuild the Circle Tower. How he tried to save the Harimann family while maneuvering around Johane. Sebastian may have shot the arrow, but it was Goran who made that arrow's true flight possible. How he secretly dispatched the man named Flint and drove his mercenaries from Starkhaven. How he had managed to secure the throne of Starkhaven – she had only been vaguely aware of some power grabs, but the Starkhaven Council had always backed Goran. How he sent the nurse with the painting – which Flora never found. She told Flora about his kindness, his thoughtfulness, his obliviousness and the all the little things that they had missed over the years. Her friend had a hard time believing it, and Ruxton thought Samantha was making it up.

When the choir finished, both Goran and Samantha lifted themselves wearily from the pew, but just as they were walking through the aisles towards the exit, a man dressed in heavy armor with the Templar's sword etched into the chestpiece stepped in their way. Maybe in his late forties and disarmingly handsome, he was grinning at Samantha. Lines ran from his deep-set eyes like they couldn't get far enough away.

He was the Knight Commander of Starkhaven.

"Your Highness." He bowed deeply. He was, like many Orlesians, stiff in formality with a sensual voice. "A word?"

"Is something wrong?" Goran tugged at his collar; he only wore the long formal jacket of the prince to service and he was always anxious to remove it when they left.

"In a manner of speaking… No." The Knight Commander's accent made him sound friendly. "But perhaps we should speak away from the ears of the masses."

Goran looked behind him, and almost comically the nobles of Starkhaven burst into movement as though they had been moving all along. Samantha pressed her lips together to hide her smile.

"Perhaps we could walk together." The Knight Commander shifted his gaze back to Samantha and offered another warm smile. "I don't believe I've had the pleasure…?"

"This is Lady Samantha Mayweather." Goran introduced her.

"Ahh, yes." He leaned down to kiss her hand, keeping his rock-hard eyes on hers. "A pleasure to meet you, my lady. I have heard many good things about you, and might I add that blue is truly your color. It suits you completely."

She was wearing her favorite autumn coat, which was pale blue. Something in the way he spoke about it diminished her love for it. She smiled back too-sweetly and spoke to him through her teeth. "You should see me in yellow, messere."

"Please, call me Rayce." His smile faded as he stood back up, extending his elbow.

She hesitated for the briefest of moments before she took it – it would have been rude not to – because she didn't want to be close to this man. The way he stared at her was deliberating intimidating, but there was something else there, too. Samantha wasn't sure what it was, but it felt like a test of some kind.

Emerging into the wet world, two small boys appeared behind them with large umbrellas, opening them up and lifting them over their heads. The Knight Commander joined the trio under the shelter from the rain as they walked.

The Knight Commander surveyed the courtyard outside the chantry. "Usually, there are fewer people on the path after service on such a day as this."

"Usually the Knight Commander and the prince don't take walks together after service." Samantha forced the corners of her mouth up when he looked over.

"Touché," he said, offering what sounded like a genuine laugh, and the lines of his face grew deep with secrets.

Keis gave Samantha a funny look but Goran was trying to act normal, uncomfortably watching the people who were watching them when he said, "Let's go to the palace."

"An excellent suggestion." The Knight Commander agreed.

As she looked away; his intense gaze settled into her stomach heavily. This was the man who was still detaining the post, the man who was in charge of throwing Innley in that dungeon, the man whose eyes betrayed an insatiable hunger underneath that veneer of Orlesian charm. To top it off, he wanted her to address him informally as though they were friends. Samantha didn't care about the test anymore.

"The mages seem to be adjusting to their new accommodations," the Knight Commander said; this must have been his idea of small talk.

"Mm," Goran hummed; he didn't do well at small talk.

"Have the dungeons been used yet?" Samantha asked flatly, as though she were inquiring about the weather.

The Knight Commander just smiled roguishly. "Not yet, but I can arrange for a tour if you like. Perhaps you'd like to see the new set of chains that we had nailed to the walls last week."

Samantha was certain that her flush was giving away her hatred. In her periphery, she caught Keis' usually fear-inducing glare, but paid it no mind as she focused on the Knight Commander. "I hear iron vices work much better. You might reduce the amount of time necessary for detention if you increase the cruelty of your methods."

"A fine point." He seemed amused. "But what good is a mage who can't use her hands?"

"I wasn't aware mages were useful anymore," she purred in sarcasm. "My apologies."

"Ah, yes! But every tool has its purpose."

"Tools?" Goran rejoined the conversation. "Mages aren't tools, they're people."

The Knight Commander chuckled. "You hear that, Lady Samantha? High Royal Highness has declared that vessels for demons are people."

"Really, Goran." Samantha turned to the prince, but silently lamented his deaf-ear for sarcasm, knowing that he wouldn't comprehend her true meaning. "Next you're going to suggest that we send emissaries into the Fade to determine voting rights."

"What?" Goran looked perplexed as expected; this was why everyone thought he was so dim.

"We bear as much blame for their plight." The Knight Commander leaned down to speak softly into her ear. "But I think we've both given demons a voice too often, wouldn't you agree?"

He was speaking of Innley, amused rather than bothered by her attempts at pointing out the blatant cruelty of those who were sworn to protect! Infuriated, Samantha wanted to be rid of this man. There was cruelty in his voice, shameless in its vulgarity and simply having his hands on her, no matter that they were sheathed in gloves, felt dirty. She didn't say another word until they reached the palace when she was finally able to extricate herself from his grasp. Irritated that she had to spend time with Ser Rayce instead of time with Corbinian - his armor plate was an extension of him - Samantha silently fumed as she handed her now-least-favorite jacket to a servant. Goran shrugged off his coat as though he had no idea what was going on, and Keis looked upon Samantha disapprovingly. The Knight Commander just continued on with that small smile that threatened to ruin his fine Orlesian features.

A group of servants appeared with new shoes for Goran and Samantha to replace their wet ones, and as Samantha pulled off her gloves one finger at a time, she glared at The Knight Commander; up until that very moment, she had never felt the desire to physically injure someone.

Goran led them into the sitting room where Ser Rayce finally noticed Keis. "Is she going to stay?"

"Of course she is," Samantha insisted defiantly.

The Knight Commander crossed his arms, thoroughly amused. "You don't like me."

"I don't know you, ser." Samantha said stiffly, accepting a glass of wine from a servant's tray.

He waved away the servant, declining any spirits. "I dare say that if you did, you would change your mind."

"What's the news?" Goran asked the Knight Commander, seemingly wanting to steer the conversation away from things that confused him.

"Your Highness." The man bowed. "Thank you for inviting me in. I have news from Kirkwall."

Samantha's gaze snapped up to his again, and he glanced over towards her, apparently aware he'd caught her interest. She tried to pretend otherwise, but it was too late.

"I received a letter from Meredith Stannard, the Knight Commander of Kirkwall. She sent it by rider."

Goran set down his glass. "By rider? What was so urgent?"

"The Viscount of Kirkwall is dead."

The Prince of Starkhaven stood frozen for a moment, absorbing this information until he breathed out in shock. "Marlowe is dead?"

"It was the Qunari. They chopped off his head and tried to seize the city."

Samantha brought her hands to her mouth in shock, Corbinian's armor plate temporary forgotten, and she heard the clink of Keis' armor as the woman shifted behind her.

"Tried?" Keis asked.

"Yes." He nodded grimly. "Tried and failed. Stopped by Kirkwall's new Champion." His thick Orlesian accent made the word sound soft, but there was nothing soft about a Champion.

The naming of a Champion by a city was unique to the Free Marches, so given to any woman or man who distinguished themselves by deed. It was not always a mark of honor, either, as many Champions were feared more than they were loved. In the history of the Free Marches, there had only been two other Champions named: the Champions of Starkhaven and Tantervale. Starkhaven's champion had been distinguished during the age of the Fourth Blight, eventually participating in the Battle of Ayesleigh where the elven Grey Warden Garahel slew the Archdemon.

"Andraste's breath…" Goran whispered, finally blinking.

"Indeed." The Knight Commander shook his head, as though he didn't believe what he was about to say. "She says the Champion defeated the Qunari Arishok in single combat, rescued the city from the Qunari siege, and then convinced the rest of them to leave the city willingly, without much citizen blood spilled."

His words hung in the air like an unfinished sentence, and Samantha had a flash of Flora, hiding in her estate perhaps, trying to endure yet another tragedy while the pieces of her own broken home still lay strewn about the floor.

Everyone knew of the Qunari; they had been at war with Tevinter Imperium for three hundred years and had attempted to conquer every city in the Free Marches at least once. From everything Samantha had read, the Qunari were a warlike race. If their military leader, the Arishok, insisted that they kill everyone inside a city as demanded by their honor system, something they called the Qun, then it was miraculous that someone actually managed to get them to halt their tirade and leave by choice.

"How…?" Goran didn't seem to believe it either.

"I don't have the details, but from what Meredith says, this new Champion is a curious sort. Some Fereldan refugee that goes by the name of Hawke."

"Hawke?" Samantha blurted out the name in familiarity and three pairs of eyes turned to her.

Sebastian's letter came back to her: _I asked for help from the Fereldan refugee that I hired to hunt down the Flint Mercenary Company, a colorful character named Hawke. _For a fleeting moment, a jolt of panic named Sebastian shot up her throat, and there was no quenching the overwhelming thirst for news of his condition: had he participated in this battle, did he have a hand in the events leading up to the confrontation with the Arishok, and perhaps most importantly, _was he safe_? Certain that she had turned several shades of red, Samantha tried to still her racing thoughts, but the others had already seen her flush.

"You know this Hawke?" The Knight Commander crossed his arms again.

Samantha swallowed hard, shaking her head. "No." It wasn't a lie, necessarily.

"Really."

"It's… an interesting name."

"Indeed." He looked amused again before turning back to the prince. "Meredith has taken up a position as Regent until a viscount can be named. You'll want to write a letter to her, I assume."

"Right." Goran looked lost. "I guess I should do that."

Without being able to help it, Samantha's mind wandered away from the room and the intimidating Orlesian Knight Commander. Her mind drifted to her friends, Flora, Ruxton, and, of course, Sebastian. To what could have happened that prompted the Qunari to attempt a takeover. To known associates of Sebastian's that had defeated them. _Sebastian_. _Flora._

There was movement and talking, but Samantha couldn't hear anything, consumed by her dread and taken out of her head only when the Knight Commander's callused fingers cradled hers. His accent hissed out sounds of farewell as he brought her knuckles to his lips. When she met his gaze again, she nearly startled at those hardened eyes, contradicted by his pleasant expression.

The world was changing yet again, and Samantha struggled to understand what the Maker's intentions for His children were. If, as Francesca had said earlier that day, that everyone was responsible for shaping His world, how could it be possible to _not_ create one of chaos? Of so many lives changed in an instant at another's whim. How saving everyone is never possible when mad people take control. Of a world that was filled with so many who were so fanatical and how ineffective and temporary all attempts at justice really were.

Who was this absentee father, and what the point of pleasing him?


End file.
